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@hngswmn
# HNGSWMN : independent , selective and friends only reading of MULTIPLE FEMALE MUSES from various medias : there's a lover in the story , but the story's still the same . all settings include various elements from different medias and personal headcanons . written by fraise . personals , don’t interact . please , do not follow if you have no intention of interacting .
1 / GUIDE 2 / MUSES 3 / STARTERS
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* “" you're doing me a favor by helping me be more normal. " ( from agata, to ophelia. ) › @stlwrt , continued from [ here ]
❝ YOU'RE MISTAKEN , ❞ she replies , eyes evading her friend's , as if she was attempting to look away from something utterly divine . even after all this time , part of her believes she is unworthy of ophelia's companionship , of her smiles and sweet expressions . if her friend was akin to the sun , then surely she was a wilted flower , to turn her gaze towards the light . ❝ i couldn't do this , or much else , without you . ❞
she spared herself a glance in the mirror taking in the sight of her self . strands of hair fluttered free over her shoulders , a few locks grazing her jaw . her eyes reminded her of the gray of rain-dampened stone , her flesh pale and dry . in her opinion , she had overall the look of a statue , dour and stiff , and was most often just as silent as one too . the opposite , clearly , of her friend's pale hair and bright eyes .
❝ IT LOOKS PRETTY . ❞ the sight of the dress gives her pause , though she can feel something stir inside of her . she recalled mentioning to ophelia once how she liked this shade of blue , how it was one of the few colors she believed did not make her look stern . to see that ophelia remembered pleased her , the ghost of a smile floating on her lips . ❝ i'll wear anything you pick . it's just , i didn't think you'd remember what i told you the other day . ❞
"i can only imagine." scarlett's voice comes comparatively mellower against roscille's sharper tone, a subtle gentleness in front of saccharine sweet, emerald eyes watching the witch's every move. she'd be lying if she says she didn't have some interest towards the underworld's rising star, if only because she reminded her of the wayward toddler back then, standing all by her lonesome in a sea of flames.
still, that's all it is. interest. nowhere near enough for scarlett to ignore her growing concern to her fledgling toeing dangerously close around roscille. "the allure of power tends to draw people in. but i digress." her gloved hands pull back to intertwine themselves on the expensive desk. anyone who's known of scarlett know of her story—the legend of a woman establishing her intelligence empire from nothing but cunning wit and sheer will. if there's anyone who shouldn't judge, it's her.
the soft , sweet and sticky tone used by the other did little to quell the storm inside the young witch's heart as her mother would say , there is nothing more dangerous than a creature who pretends to be one thing and is in truth another . she is aware she is an anomaly within gotham's underworld , a pawn rebelling against its chosen fate . her father had planted the fear of the underworld's scarlet blossom in her far before he handed her his dagger / BUT HER FEAR OF HELLENBERG TRUMPED THAT OF SCARLETT . and in her quest for her freedom , she would ally herself with the devil if it guaranteed that the man couldn't control her anymore .
a nod is all she offers as an answer to the other's remark . inside her stomach , something small stirs / SOMETHING NEEDY , SOMETHING VIOLENT . so powerful is this sensation that it pushes away every single thought inside of her mind , starting with that of the future and ending with bright blue eyes and a kind smile that unnerved her far more than any horror she had witnessed until now . ❝ i do not need the faintest taste of power to understand that the greater one's rise , the further his fall . the higher the tower is built the more precarious it becomes . ❞
a pause . ❝ even children with their building blocks understand this , wouldn't you agree ? ❞
"—and that, i believe, concludes our transaction." scarlett's all soft smiles, all too sweet and demure as she looks up towards the white witch's veiled countenance. she offers the usb drive. "i must say, i'm intrigued—for you to request intel about your own father is a most curious thing. family doesn't make life very easy for you, hm?"
@hngswmn requested a starter from the red lady!
her grasp tightens around the usb drive the same way it would around a dagger's grip . here she is , taking the first step towards reclaiming her fate , towards vengeance . hidden behind thin layers of lace , the corner of her lips turns up , a saccharine expression concealing darker emotions / THIS IS POWER , SHE THINKS TO HERSELF . with a single request , a single plead , she had arranged the world to her liking .
❝ I'M SURE YOU CAN UNDERSTAND WHY , ❞ she finally speaks , voice soft yet sharp . in that instant , she imagined herself a serpent carefully hiding beneath a flower's delicate petals . ❝ hellenberg industries is a castle of consequences . every word has its echo . ❞
myra wouldn't be able to tell if she's more concentrated on roscille or on the assignment choice itself—for someone so accustomed to a position of power, roscille seems no less than your typical antisocial, bookworm teenager.
( speaking from personal, not-really-hers-but-close-enough experience, at least. )
it's not a good idea to pry this close into the life of a supposed villain, sitting next to her like this, faces close enough she could faintly smell the scent of roscille's hair. she does know that, of course, even with all her pompous 'i do what i want' attitude ( until she gets caught or rescued, in which case she ends up under her family's scrutiny until further notice. myra's pretty sure they're still watching her regardless. )
a girl could still use some hobbies, though, no? parental supervision notwithstanding.
"that sounds like it'll be an interesting book to talk about." myra says, soft smile and softer blue eyes sparkling under the sunlight from the windows in supposed elation of finding some direction for their supposedly important literature assignment, and absolutely not because she's found her next person of intrigue. "i'll have to read it after school. tell me more about it?"
performance is existence her life is nothing but a succession of roles , all of which she is expected to perform to perfection . here is the foreign daughter roaming the halls of hellenberg enterprises . here is the girl asking for a cloak made from the creatures of her homeland from her father in exchange for the right to be betrothed / TO BE MADE A BARGAINING CHIP . here is the young lady who has killed for him over and over again , and then washed the blood from her hands and pretended to shrink and simper under her veil . here is a witch who wears her manacles like bracelets , who calls her shackles armor . here is a student with overall wonderful grades , just enough to bargain her own future . it made her wonder which version myra was privy to / AND WHAT DID SHE LOOK LIKE IN HER MIND .
beneath her timid demeanour , roscille is still attempting to recall where she has seen myra's traits before . though she could not land where she had seen a similar face before , she does feel like she has seen someone with similar mannerisms … someone she knew from her after school activities . she could tell she had met someone linked to myra before , but in what way , she couldn't tell yet . and for a girl who prided herself in being able to remember names , faces and facts about people , there was nothing worse than being unsure of someone's background .
❝ i think so too . ❞ there is something bright in myra's eyes that cause her to avoid her gaze , something she could not name . it was as if she was looking at something pure and holy / JUST ANOTHER THING HER CURSED EYES SHOULD NOT GAZE UPON . yet , the next question eases her nerves a little , as she feels her own passion for le fanu's story bubble to the surface . ❝ it's about this isolated young woman named laura who longs for companionship — until a carriage accident brings another young woman , carmilla , into her life . both of them are drawn to each other , leading to a complex and dangerous relationship marked by both romantic desires and vampiric violence . it's very different from stoker's dracula in that regard . ❞
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new contract today, here goes nothing!
chatter echoes en masse around them, loud and chaotic and just about as teenager-y as myra expected everyone to be, so engrossed in their respective conversations that they almost look out of place, the way the both of them are actually talking about the assigned topic.
her side ponytail bobbles as she puts her bookmark between the pages of her book, tucking it away into the safety of her backpack. she's not going to be rude. "yeah, i know about it." myra replies, gaze falling sidelong thoughtfully.
carmilla, or, the gothic novel in which someone way back when decided that lesbian vampires were fit to explore as a topic, as far as she understands it. that's with layers and layers of watering down anyway. regardless, a rather intriguing choice for a book analysis assignment for school. "i don't think i've ever read that. have you?" and the more important question is, well, does this imply something about roscille that her other classmates may not be aware about?
if she is bothered by her and myra looking out of place amongst her peers , she shows no signs of it after all , after a lifetime of being overlooked , she felt right at home in the shadows . when made to feel like an outsider by hellenberg , she had found strength in the margins , in living her life inbetween the lines of her favorite books . it was nothing new to her , just like taking her place as her father's heir in the underworld had felt natural at the time . hopefully , myra wouldn't find her lack of reaction to their classmates suspicious / IT WAS THE ONE THING ABOUT HER THAT WAS NOT SCRIPTED NOR REHEARSED .
she is pleased to hear the other knew of the book she was suggesting . though scandalous in his nature , there was a lot to analyze and say about carmilla … and not just about the suspicious relationship linking the two protagonists . though the concept of dualism had been what had rendered the story so special to her ( human and vampire , lesbianism and heterosexuality … innocent and knowing , pure and tainted ) she knew there was something to be said about the character of carmilla in comparison to victorian women at the time , as well as the vampire novel .
❝ i have . it is actually one of my favorite stories , in spite of the ending . there is a lot to be said about female empowerment and social norms in it . ❞ and though she ( supposedly ) shared her sexual orientation with carmilla , there was nothing about her preferences that had influenced her suggestion . not that she made it a secret / JUST ANOTHER THING THAT DISTINGUISHED HER FROM HER CURSED BLOODLINE .
myra takes little time to settle back down after their little greeting, propping up her cheek with her forearm against the table as she waits for roscille make herself comfortable. white hair, some moles here and there, and a pair of glasses. skin a shade too pale, like she hasn't been in the sun enough, but not particularly fragile looking along with well-balanced face features. in conclusion: unassuming. cute, but unassuming. if anything, roscille seems shy. it may well be surface level, but myra has the strange feeling that part of that stiffness may be genuine.
she doesn't ask.
a sigh follows as her shoulders droop a touch in exaggerated defeat, turning to briefly glance at their literature teacher watching the different student groups gather together. it's growing loud. "no, not yet. if you have any ideas, i'm all ears."
( somewhere at the back of her mind, she could hear her parents bicker over jane eyre down the hall at home, when she's too busy with homework. it's not the best way to passively learn classic literature. it's also served her well in her english grades in spite of her dislike. but it is a group project. she ought to give roscille a chance. )
she doesn't need to look to know that the other is staring at her she can feel the weight of myra's gaze on her , though she is careful not to let the other peak under her glasses . only when she is properly sat does she turn her head to examine her classmate . like her mother enjoyed saying , there is nothing more dangerous than a creature who pretends to be one thing and is in truth another . nonetheless , there isn't much she can tell about the other at this very moment . the diamond studs do give away that the young woman comes from wealth , though she isn't surprised by any means . this information was already available to her / AND SHE NEEDED MORE TO DETERMINE HOW TO ACT AROUND THE OTHER .
she is quite beautiful , part of her thinks . and indeed , with her dark hair and bright eyes , myra isn't an unfortunate sight . yet , there was something else about her . the more she studied the other's mannerisms , down to the way the corner of her lips would turn upwards , the more she was reminded of someone else . not her mother , who she had seen in passing in interviews and magazines / BUT WHO ELSE COULD IT BE ?
it is only when myra asks what they should do that roscille snaps back to herself . and though it takes a moment for her to answer ( long enough so that her softer side could be scolded by her stronger one for staring ) , the words leap out of her throat , almost unbidden , surprising even the normally unphased roscille. ❝ well , since i wasn't sure how familiar you were with gothic literature , i was going to suggest a novella by sheridan le fanu , the irish writer. have you ever heard of carmilla ? ❞
it takes no longer than a second for myra to look up from her book—some recent piece of literature she brought along with her from her family library—before she flashes a small, friendly smile. "sure, this spot's free." her blue eyes glimmer with the faint hint of anticipation. she has to admit, just from first glance from head to toe, roscille gives her none of the impression that she's the white witch of the underworld that her parents talked about. still, if there's anything that she's learned from them, it's that appearances tend to make poor scales to judge one's true intentions.
( that, and that they're a clan of nosy people. which is why she's here, smile at all, after changing her teacher's group assignments to put them together. )
"roscille, right?" she offers a hand. "i'm myra. i don't think we've ever talked before."
myra's hand , unblemished and saintly clean , feels small in her own a far cry from all the other hands she has been shaking lately . those hands were stronger , squeezing her own in their grip . on some people's arms , she could see thick , dark hair ; on others' palms , lines that spoke of years spent in this line of work . in comparison , hers looked like a child , porcelain wired to an iron frame . IT WOULD NOT STAY THAT WAY FOR LONG .
❝ I DON'T THINK WE HAVE CONVERSED BEFORE . BUT WE'RE HERE NOW , AND THAT'S ALL THAT COUNTS . ❞ the conversation pulls at her heartstring , the word pouring easily from her lips . taking to people never was easy for her , yet part of her once used to be able to entertain others with a light conversation . she is not now what she was then / HER FLESH HAS THICKENED AND HER EYES HAVE BEEN WIDE OPENED . though she may look like a fragile flower , white-petaled , this merely conceals her ; it does not bind her . especially now that she has taken hellenberg's place in the underworld , under the moniker of the white witch.
taking on the other's invitation , she made her way to the chair right next to her , her gaze cautious and her mind at work making sense of myra . she knew better than to believe this idyllic school life would last forever / AFTER ALL , SHE HAD COME TO LEARN THAT THE POWER OF PEACE LIED IN THE VIOLENCE USED TO KEEP IT . ❝ so , do you have a book or work of literature you'd like to use for this project ? ❞
if i gave roscille her own blog, do we agree the line 'let gotham shake' in reference to the pj harvey's song would go hard?
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pencils , markers and the rest are gathered as soon as the teacher gives the signal books held close to her chest , as if armor . though she was by no means a fan of teamwork , her grade being on the line made it easy for her to comply . thus , she makes her way to her assigned partner / someone , admittedly , she had yet to speak to , in spite of sitting in the same classroom for a major portion of the school year . ❝ hey , erm … WOULD YOU MIND IF I TAKE A SEAT NEARBY ? ❞
@stlwrt › asked for a starter !
rikina would have to admit that in many ways she's a fool—a newbie hero, sheltered from most of the world's cruel happenings and extraordinary events compared to the rest of her friends, each and every one of them a pillar of gotham in their own rights. but that doesn't mean she couldn't recognize a liar where there is one. even less likely to hide when it's her best friend doing so.
"oh— ah, okay!" her beam, even with a touch less radiance, remains bright as ever as she takes the scissors gratefully from roscille's hands, turning swiftly in her chair back to the material she's working on to hide the momentary disappointment. "we can, err, hang out next time then! maybe?"
(rikina doesn't want to think when that next time would be. the laws of space don't apply as long as she's still on earth, right?)
in the brief silence, the sound of scissors cutting across green fabric feel eerily too loud. "i hope so." she answers, uncharacteristically quiet. "i'm worried about you. you know i'll be here for you no matter what happens, right?" as much as her space cop-ing, blood-fearing, murder-averse self can. as much as it allows before she has to watch roscille tumble further into the pit of moral ambiguity. rikina's already as blind as she can be.
part of her wishes to know if rikina had changed her opinion of her and if it did , did it transform or reveal her ? whether the former or the latter , the thought displeases her and winds a strange , deep-green , serpentine feeling through her body . SHE WISHES SHE DIDN'T HAVE TO LIE LIKE THIS . deep down , she knows she is merely speaking fictions into her friend's ears , deceiving her into thinking her father was not that monstruous . yet , she knows the truth : HE IS JUST AS HORRIBLE AS SHE'S DESCRIBED HIM IN THE PAST , AND SO MUCH MORE .
❝ WELL , THERE IS THIS NEW ICE CREAM PARLOR DOWN THE STREET … ❞ the act is natural , lying to her friend . lying to everyone , lying to herself … LYING FOR HER LIFE . in reality , if it were not for rikina taking the scissors from her grasp , she'd probably would have pocketed them . what for , she didn't know yet / OR IF SHE EVER WOULD . it breaks her heart , to think yet another brick was added to the wall seperating her from her best friend . first was her mother's disapproval of her friend ; then came alan , offering ( forcing ) to transform her into a weapon ; and finally , green lantern's light blessing her friend , illuminating her path . TRUTH BE TOLD , SHE MISSED BEING WITH HER BEST FRIEND AND NOT HAVING TO OVERTHINK THINGS .
upon hearing her friend's declaration , the corner of her lips turned up , a spark finally lighting up dull , dark brown eyes . ❝ i know . and while i can't be up there with you , i'll always be here if you need me . ❞ lodged between these two sentences is a third , unspoken yet present all the same . you are my best friend , she thinks . i love you , she adds . and finally , please keep telling me who i am for i fear i am about to become something else completely . not that she'd admit any of it to her friend for now , not when circumstances were this dire outside of the sanctuary that was this specific classroom .
— Ocean Vuong, from On Earth We're Briefly Gorgeous (via letsbelonelytogetherr)
roscille's question stings enough to make julia's hand pause, still tangled in her daughter's hair. in julia's glassy brown eyes, something reflects dully, like a worn out mirror, glossy silver flaking off of it in pieces to reveal the ugly rust underneath. both an appropriate image of alan's empire and that of herself, as much as she loathes admitting such a thing.
"no." julia's answer comes curt, much shorter than the typical motherly response she'd have given roscille, anger palpitating with the drum of her heart in her chest. there's something in her gaze that feels particularly distant, like she's looking past roscille to look at the her that used to have the same innocence, bright and unaware of the predatory world about to snatch her away.
a second or two passes, the silence stretching strangely with the ticking sound of the grandfather clock in the distant wall. "he will not touch a single precious hair on you, my rose." she whispers, her trembling thumb tracing with utmost care across roscille's moles like she's holding the most delicate porcelain. "i refuse to allow it, do you understand? i will not let that happen."
she's only more than aware that alan sees her roscille little more than some pawn, something to be used and discarded. still, the bite of betrayal cuts her like the edge of a dull knife—not enough to kill, but enough for skin to give and bleed. "he's not your father." words hissing through barely gritted teeth, heavy with the weight of something bitter like heartbreak. "remember that, roscille. do not feel any mercy for such a wretched person."
if i were a normal girl , he would not ask me for this such is the thought that comes to mind the longer she searches inside her mother's eyes for a sign , for direction . in hellenberg's world , there is no debt of blood which goes unpaid . if the world tips in another's favor , it must be made to tip back again . but the world is never in a woman's favor , even less so , a young girl's . she cannot tip the scale . neither can her mother , her sole companion and solace . the only choice is : live the same mute , unjust life you have always lived , or tear apart the world itself . AND HOW COULD SHE DO THAT , WHEN SHE WAS NOTHING MORE THAN THE DAGGER IN HER FATHER'S HAND ?
julia's answer does little to quell the confusion taking root inside of her heart . she knows , in spite of her mother's refusal for her to partake in their family's dark legacy , that this is nothing more than a wish . there was no stopping her father's nefarious plots . and if she or her mother were to try and complicate the matter for him , there was no telling what might become of them . chances were , she would probably find her resting ground amongst the same eels that haunted her every sleeping moment .
SHE KNOWS SHE OUGHT TO PROTECT HER MOTHER . that she ought to lie not only for her life , but for hers as well . this house , from the silent statues lining the halls to the mahogany furniture , is a castle of consequences . every word here has its echo , and it was up to her to make sure hellenberg never caught any of them . IT WAS THE LEAST SHE COULD DO TO REPAY HER MOTHER FOR HER LIFE .
❝ BUT MAMAN … ISN'T THE SON OF AN ERMINE AN ERMINE TOO ? ❞ deep down , she knows her mother is doing her a favor by overlooking certain things about her . the ability to be cunning , to place your goals over your own emotions , the spark of cruelty whenever someone she dislikes meet their fate … she was , unfortunately , her father's daughter , a true hellenberg . even though he had taken no part in her upbringing , merely reaping the rewards of julia's hard work , she couldn't deny it : she was just like him , in some twisted way . TOO BAD IT WOULDN'T BE ENOUGH TO KEEP HIM FROM THEIR WRATH .
that is when it happens . a spark of an idea , a way to perhaps circumvent her circumstances . ❝ I THINK … I THINK I MIGHT HAVE AN IDEA . ❞
"And in the usual fashion, bit us both in the tail end about it." Arrai shakes his head. This has played out so many times over the last few days. He'd love it if a day could go by without another splitting headache — the worm seems to be quite content letting the ache of information sit and throb like a mead-driven hangover. By Balduran, that'd be felt for the rest of the day.
"So in that vein, I also assume you're not keen on what it promises, mottling bruised and losing hair." And growing wriggly little tentacles, too. Still, the promise of sweet-talking their way into a githyanki creche is bright, assuming their githyanki companion back at camp didn't run a knife through anyone's chest first.
Arrai gestured, offering his hand, palm-up, the gesture implying that, magnanimously, the jab about the stories and songs would go unanswered. Besides, the tiefling was a storyteller, not a truthseeker.
The truth that resided within the tales mattered less than the grandiose way in which they could be told, swords swooping through the air and fire blazing from the hands of spellcasters.
there is nothing more dangerous than a creature who pretends to be one thing and is in truth another something she believed applied to her current predicament as well as her upbringing . as far as both of them were concerned , these worms had yet to reveal their true visage . instead , they were left to piece the few hints they had been given ( granted ? ) together , like some sort of strange puzzle . yet , as the pangs of pain slowly give way to clarity , she cannot help but wonder the goal of such a nebulous enterprise . why them ? why this way ? why , why , why ?
❝ I'D RATHER HAVE THE EELS SUCK THE DEAD FLESH FROM MY BONES THAN END UP LIKE THEM , ❞ she remarks , gaze evading that of her conversation partner . it felt as if she had been restrained by the host , the same way a wild creature might be collared , or worse , muzzled . as if she was some sort of prize / SOME SORT OF PRECIOUS PET . but a muzzled creature thinks only of its misery and its shackles . ❝ still , it may try to rob my body of its power, i shall not let them take my mind . ❞
BUT HOW ? such is the question inside of her mind . as far as she knew , there existed no remedy to her condition . yet , the thought of waiting to turn into one of those horrifying , viscious creature repulsed her . thus , a choice is made : she would find a way to remove the parasite inside of her mind . and if she couldn't find one , she would make it happen , one way or another . the same way the witches in her mother's stories would need no invitation , merely a way to slip through locks .
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“No, Bronwyn, you’re not fine. You don’t think that I can’t see that?” / from alex c:
it took bronwyn half an hour to reach scarlett's office , her legs numb beneath her , vision blurring and then sharpening in dizzying turns her hair damp and plastered to her face , her stockings ripped to ruins . not to mention , there was blood trickling down her calves , crimson pearls originating from her bruised knees . she had not looked at her reflection during her painful walk back , meaning she had little to no clue of the state alexandra had received her in . if she had , she would have commented she looked like a woman half-possessed , which was no different from a mad girl that ought to be locked away for everyone's sake .
❝ DOES IT REALLY MATTER ? ❞ as soon as she let out these words , the girl coughed , trying to summon her voice once more . her bottom lip was split and felt puffy , painful . yet , there was no room for silence / NOT WHEN SHE HAD FINALLY GOTTEN A PIECE OF INFORMATION THAT COULD SAVE HER COMRADES . ❝ i got what we needed … and i don't … i don't mind jumping out of another car if it brings us a step closer to t-them . ❞
a half-hum answers her sharp statement, punctuated by a flourish of the hand ( mirrored by tiefling tail, flippantly ghosting through the air ). "you say unthinkable as if it were not an act sung about in half the knight-errant songs this side of the Sword Coast."
of little girls running away from home for love, for escape, for the act of slaying a dragon. dreamers' eyes fixed on the starry sky above with the ache to leave home.
almost, he knows, as common as the yearning to wield a sword-and-shield alike Ariabel or Isteval. "I'd wager 'escaping an unwanted marriage' is—" Arrai's words find themselves choked off, strangled by the spike driven firmly into his forehead — their unwelcome passengers making themselves known, flashing escapes and terror and spluttering seawater through both minds.
( dragging himself out of the shallow water, spitting salt and sand out, hair encrusted with the exact same, head pounding worse than any drinking night has ever left behind, collapsing with the burning wreckage coming down some distance away and highlighting the rising morn's horizon )
"you had me going for a second." no wriggling worm, indeed.
❝ AND HOW MANY OF THESE GIRLS WERE REAL ? ❞ the words flow out of her mouth like water , before she can stop them . ❝ in fact , how many of these girls survived their story ? ❞ part of her cannot help but wonder , why is it that men love singing about girls running away yet punishes them by writing gruesome ends to their story ? she had read , had sung plenty of songs about wandering knights , stray heroes , boys with destinies accomplishing their goals . 'what is the difference' , she thinks / AND WHY IS IT THERE IS A DIFFERENCE IN THE FIRST PLACE ?
SHE IS GRATEFUL FOR THE CHANGE OF TOPIC , THOUGH HER RELIEF IS SHORT-LIVED . the tiefling presses their hand against their forehead , and immediately , so does hers . the pain piles up like stones , the spike of the intruder inside her mind no easier to bear because she is expecting it ; every time , she finds herself choking on air , her brain on fire , her vision blurring and her breathing accelerating . and yet , she refuses to produce not even a sound . what is the point of such protests anyway ? / IT WILL ONLY DELIGHT HER TORMENTOR MORE .
❝ EVERY WORD HAS ITS ECHO , ❞ she says , and it is true in a way . as of this moment , trust is not something she can entrust to most people . inbetween her family and the parasite in her mind , she has her share of enemies who'd love nothing more than see her fail . ❝ but i was truthful when saying i've ran away from home . I JUST FAILED TO MENTION WHAT HAPPENED AFTERWARDS . ❞
