#illuminay

annie's countenance expresses the same level of detail as her words. the way her usual bright eyes are darkened by something dangerous nearly scares you— it's not like the starlight you're accustomed to seeing plastered across every single tweet for the last few years. doe-eyed, beaming grin, hopeful. that's only one version of her, you've come to learn from your brief time together. starlight was doe-eyed, hopeful, with a beaming grin. annie is angry, sharp, and dangerous. but, then again, who are you to talk? you're the girl who shrinks down to nothing when things get tough— or big, if you've had the proper amount of white claws. hands rise in mock surrender, eyes widening. "okay— whoa, whoa... chill..." as fast as your hands rose, they're brought back down to your lap, facial expression evening itself back out. "i get the whole nice but deadly vibe, but, seriously? rocks? at least use your powers."

@illuminay said: sometimes i wonder if i'm just part of the problem.

“ WE ALL ARE. ” It's a curt response. Delivered with a huff even. Maybe Annie is looking for something softer, but they both know Maeve's style: direct, to the point, and cutting. She leans back in her chair, until it whimpers from the weight of her.

you jump back, the beer bottle in your hand shattering on impact with the floor. it’s fine, it was shit anyway. too bitter and gross and not nearly as important as the blonde pre-puking scarlet at your feet.

@illuminay: " what, did you run over the body with your car a couple times after ? "

" NOW MISS JANUARY — " he's pouting, even if you can't quite see it under the mask save for the teeny protrusion where his bottom lip juts out. " you know i got my license revoked for good for crashing into a krispy kreme while under the influence of cocaine. must you poke the wound ? it's hurtful. "

          𝚎𝚢𝚎𝚜 𝚜𝚑𝚊𝚛𝚙 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚙𝚛𝚎𝚍𝚊𝚝𝚘𝚛𝚢, they scan the room with an intense purpose. the starlight house —– sanctuary, hope, outreach. it feels suffocatingly alien to you; it was too bright, too open. the antithesis of the shadows you are accustomed to. the soft glow from sun-to-windows contrasts with the cold and clinical environment of the woods. [although —– it feels more sterile.]

your jaw tightens, muscles flexing under smooth flesh. flashes of piercing syringes, endless drills, and wailing screams invade your mind. you had been a ghost —– a weapon without a voice or will. since your arrival, you have only spoken clipped sentences. a broken weapon with the broken pieces to match. as your gaze travels to the blonde, you search for a sign of deception —– YOU'RE USED TO BEING A PAWN. another piece in someone's game, to be used until nothing is left. but, instead, you only find earnest concern. you've lived in lies your entire life. bred in them. conditioned to believe them. HOW COULD SHE UNDERSTAND? how could anyone who hasn't been stripped of their humanity, piece by piece, understand? ❝ i do not know what is true. i never have. ❞ voice hovering barely above a whisper, it's the first full sentence put together by your lips. you find the blonde's presence both comforting and unnerving / warm like the sun, as cold as the moon.

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