#metamorphisms

“Se veio vingar estes infelizes eu realmente te sugiro que pense bem...” E, ainda que a piscadela que se sucedeu delineasse um desdém divertido, esta com certeza contrastava com o atual estado em que se encontrava a jovem cambion. Ainda sim, ela não poderia se dar ao luxo de parecer fraca nem tampouco hesitante na frente de qualquer um. “Não vou me importar de continuar...”

not-doing-too-good sentence starters // accepting.

THE WORLD BEGAN AND ENDED IN RED.    Walls   bleed   crimson  &&  her  vision  is a blur of disconnected memories — the golden and  darkness and all that blood. It is messy. And it hurts, it hurts and agonizes so bad once she realizes she is inside a CAGE —  and the iron bars are coming closer and closer, ready to CRUSH her.  Outside, it’s him again. Those blue eyes — HER eyes — stare at her wide open as his hands try in vain to contain all the blood leaking from his open throat. He keeps on choking until Scarlett no longer knows if what she is hearing is a gag or a LAUGH. And suddenly, his eyes were no longer blue either, they were black as onyx stones — as the monster of her nightmares. Damir smiled at her and the world was licked by flames.

                                                                    The  cry  that  comes  dry  from her throat as she lift up herself  from  the  sofa  is  interrupted  by  Lysandra’s  soothing  voice.  She  listens  to  the  detective’s  murmurs,  those  whispering  ghosts,  &&  tries  to  concentrate  on  her voice,  on anything  that  looks  REAL,  but  bile  rises  up  her  throat  and  she  storms  to  the  bathroom, throwing  all  the  dinner  out.

                                                                   It takes two, five minutes until the girl leaves the small area to face the woman who, despite all that shit, still seemed willing to help — to understand. Scarlett controls the urge to tell her to get the hell away, to just leave for once. She didn’t WANTED to be helped at all — and sure as hell didn’t need anyone watching her from a ringside seat  as she slowly fades away.     “—-enjoying the show?” Her voice was a tad  ROUGH; throat still burning. “For real, Lysandra, what the fuck do you want from me?  I don’t need a goddamn babysitter && I can’t help your case AT ALL. So, just for once, answer me honestly— what are you still doing here?”

            ❛ Eu ficaria muito grato se você pudesse devolver meu arco. ❜  O jovem olhava para o objeto, agora nas mãos da mulher que ele não conhecia, após ter caído enquanto enfrentava um dos muitos vilões que ameaçavam perturbar a paz na cidade. ❛ Eu realmente não posso chegar em casa sem ele. ❜

     Dorian was beginning to hate boats. It wasn’t that being on sea made him queasy, or the gentle rocking of the boat usually disturbed with the sudden smack of waves or gods knew what else was living in these waters, it was the lack of freedom that was driving him insane. He could barely get a second of peace without Aedion’s bickering, Aelin’s commands for him to stay put less he get himself hurt and everyone on the damned boat enforcing her commands. He could not step anywhere without someone asking if he was okay or eyeing him with a level of caution similar to the way Rowan had at Rifthold. As if he were so fragile, one touch, one word would send him over the edge. People only spoke to him when they remembered he was there and nobody had thought to ask him if he was okay, not that he would tell them otherwise. 

↳ send one for my muse’s reaction to your muse… + @metamorphisms​ !