bitch!!!!!!!

DYNAMICS

THE VIRTUOSO ✦ YOU ARE MY HAVEN, MY SECOND VOICE.

YOU GREW UP TOGETHER, have always moved through life together—two souls intertwined despite different manors, stitched into the same devotion before either of you knew how to speak it. Your sisterly love was never something you questioned, never something that had to be earned. It was simply there, as certain as the rising sun, as steady as the pulse beneath your skin. You have been each other’s shelter, each other’s home, the kind of belonging that needs no explanation. You do not have to ask if they would fight for you. If they would break the world apart just to keep you safe. Because you know they would, they always would, and some loves do not need words. Some loves are written into the marrow of your bones, into the space between heartbeats. And yours—yours has never been anything less than forever.

THE PRINCE ✦ PICTURE-PERFECT, LIKE A BUTTERFLY'S CLIPPED WINGS.

YOU AND THEM — perfect on paper, whispered about and captured in flashes of light. People see something inevitable in your connection, something out of a fairytale, the kind of romance people dream about but never really touch. And you tell yourself, they must be right. Because if this isn’t love, then what else is there? You smile through the silences as if they aren’t growing wider, heavier, louder. You chase every fleeting spark, every moment that feels close enough to something, convincing yourself that if you just try harder, hold on tighter, love them enough—then it will all fall into place. But love should not feel like grasping at smoke. It should not feel like drowning while reaching for someone who isn’t even sinking. Everyone calls you a match made in heaven, and yet, how can heaven feel so terribly hollow?

THE INSATIABLE, THE GAMBIT ✦ MY DEAREST FRIENDS.

THIS PICTURE ISN'T NEW TO YOU: THE INSATIABLE and THE GAMBIT, locked in that familiar dance of destruction they've perfected over years. You love them both too much to leave and too little to intervene. You remember the stories they've told you—of shared hideaways, of secrets buried so deep they've become the foundation of who they are. You still remember that night of an afterparty— your trembling hands, too many drinks in, feeling brave or perhaps just transcending into panic—when you told them bits and pieces of your fresh accident, in a hypothetical way, of course. You watched their faces, waiting for... what? Advice? Sudden understanding? Horror? Instead, they'd laughed it off as another of your exaggerations. They couldn't take you seriously, could they? Not when they were too consumed with their own magnificent tragedy. So you stay, orbiting their destruction, telling yourself you're just here to unwind. To find something - an opportunity - to bury your case with.