and if you're still breathing, you're the lucky ones
‘cause most of us are heaving through corrupted lungs
In another world, one where Adna continued to grow wild and free, she may have never felt as broken as she did by the sight of his happiness. She would have merely been happy for their moments together, would have appreciated his friendship and been thrilled for his future, and would have moved on. But she was broken instead—shattered and twisted into something she does not recognize—and instead of feeling that familiar pang of joy, she feels the far more familiar burn of something more insidious.
She hears him coming and her side twitches almost involuntarily, all of the feelings she has suppressed for so long simmering just beneath the surface. She knows (she knows, she knows) that he is good; that his heart is gold and pure and open for any who were simply kind enough to reach out and touch it. But she also knows that she does not deserve such things any longer and it drives a stake through her heart.
So although she longs to forgive him and fold into an embrace and tell him that it will be okay, she instead snarls, her lips pulling back to reveal her fangs, her head whipping up to stare at him.
“So you did not like raining fire onto the backs of my mother’s family?”
Her eyes narrow, treacherous poison running beneath the surface of her scaled skin.
“Did you not enjoy hearing the screams? My sister and brother could have been there.”
They weren’t. She knows that. But it is better to throw stones at him than accept the beating herself, than let them sit in her chest. At least, it is better for a moment. Because as soon as the venomous words leave her, she is deflated and angry and everything that had enraged her but a second before floods from her.
Leaving her nothing but a sad, empty girl.
Her face crumples and she looks to the ground, exhaling slowly. “That wasn’t fair.” Her voice is as small as she feels, self-hatred curdling in her veins. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.” She closes her serpentine eyes and feels small tremors racing up her spine as her cheeks grow damp. “I don’t know who I am anymore.”
adna
we're setting fire to our insides for fun
collecting pictures from a flood that wrecked our home
@[Ophanim]