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°◦ ♔    ——  CRYING IS FOR THE WEAK , CRYING IS FOR THE BROKEN  :  was she truly broken ? years of   harsh   words spoken by her mother had not broken her . years of   harassment   from peers had not broken her . yet now after the years of   TORMENT   for this demon within the shadows , was this the thread that finally snapped her ? or perhaps , she had   broke   years ago & alas she was merely an excellent   actress .

mother had   crafted   her almost perfectly , perhaps it was then when she was merely a small child , maybe she had   broken   then . if one looked deeply would they see the scars that were placed like pieces on a   puzzle .   would one see how the threads within her were   entwined & tangled ,   how with each carefully thread piece one slight tug could completely   shatter   her .

here in the darkness of the catacombs , she could truly show the agony , the misery , & the brokenness inside her .  ( I know I’m not enough , I was NEVER enough , mother made sure that this I knew . ) her inner thoughts playing at the forefront of her mind . ( I deserve no pity , I deserve exactly what is handed to me . )  yet alas the person she would least expect to call   friend   stands before her . expressing with careful words & acknowledging what mother never did , her   FEELINGS .   this creature who seemed to be crafted by the   angels   themselves , showing her   kindness   when she herself would feel no pity .

——    ❝  daae ,  you wish to walk with me ?  I guess if you are truly that fearfully I could   accompany   you . a cup tea sounds quite charming .  ❞

SORROW WAS A PLAGUE  ;  it ran rampant  , devoured what lay  in it’s wake , it festered it rooted deep  &  lingered to decay you over time. grief was it’s sole companion , with interlocked hands they forged a path of bereavement which she traipsed with bare feet  and trust swelling her foolish , naive heart.  which inflicted wounds left soles bleeding and yet she winced , she grimaced,  hope was an ember which never extinguished ,  love and joy was flowing lively through her veins in hopes of what lay at the cusp.  sorrow does not discriminate ,  this thought is one that echoes silently as she watches with intent and the dwindle of sympathy far off in the whites of her doe eyes  ,  gas lamp  in one grip while the other petite hand outstretched.  (    take it.  go on.   a benevolent siren sings her hymnal to what she once was expected to deem her rival   )    her roseate smile blossoms ,  closed mouth still yet a small hum resonates upon her lips in affirming , gaze of a honey eyed lamb and the prideful lioness , of viridian iridescence that for once did not flare with anger but with a suffocated dolor.  she would never pry  ,  no  !    so she only exhales ,  a fleeting suspire lilted to a short laugh