#sintember

Light it Up – The first flame, the spark that started the wildfire. Does it burn with resistance or regret? Does one turn to the other? Or does the ash that it all crumbles into at the end make it futile?

2. Cobbled together – Rushed and misaligned. Is it the torture itself, or whatever mishap follows? Maybe you didn’t need somebody’s help to be like this in the first place.

3. Mirror – The reflection that haunts you, the trapped representation of all your flaws, or the shine-facing proof of what you could’ve been.

4. Beyond – Is there one? Does it bring peace, or pain? Should it be dreaded, or sought? Or maybe you should be warned of it, of what lurks in that dangerous place of Other.

5. “Did it hurt?” – Naive concern, or sadistic mocking? A misplaced pickup line turns into a nightmare. Regardless, we all know it did, didn’t it?

6. Grotesque – Beauty or horror? To whom? What horrifies one might be the epitome of beauty for another. What’s beauty without pain and sacrifice? Where do we draw the line?

7. Lost – Where or when? Is it a person, a place? Do you need to be somewhere unfamiliar to be lost? Maybe its what you’ve seen all your life that becomes unknown.

8. Persistence – Repetition, stubbornness. Does it help, does it make it worse? Do you have a choice? They say to repeat the same mistake, always met with the same result is insanity, but you know better don’t you?

9. Let it go – Your life, your love, your friends, what came before. Or maybe the horror of it all. Can you ever truly leave it behind? Who are you without it?

10. “Please- just please” – A plea for mercy, for compassion. An empty one, maybe, looking up to an unforgiving universe, a god so far away or one with hands still dripping of the blood of your guts?

11. Behind bars – Freedom or capture? The impression of something better, but which of the two is it?

12. Scars – Reminders of failure or strength? Both, neither. Who held the handle of the knife, who’s hands clutched the blade as it came down unforgiving?

13. Sterile – The room, the tools, your life. Even after that smell haunts you, the siren call of the fake promise of safety and care. The enticing form of futile protocol.

14. Redemption – Yours, theirs. Does it matter when its demanded? Does it make the suffering worth it, does it cleanse the blood it spilled? Do the ends justify the means, when the bleed drips warm and the screams still ring?

15. “What have they done to you?” – Horrified, gleeful. It doesn’t matter when it’d damning all the same. You’ve been changed, gutted and repurposed.

16. The Hunt – The thrill, the chocking fear, the all encompassing rush of primal instinct. The instant before, when you know you’ve been caught and there is nothing to do but run, run until your lungs give out and your legs crumble and betray you.

17. Sacrifice – Willing, primed and promised, or torn and given? Is it a trade, a gamble or is something predestined? Will it ever bear the fruit it promised in sweet whispers?

18. Resistance is futile – It is, it always is. Things are the way they are, and you may run yourself ragged after some idealistic dream but you know better, don’t you? You’ve been told the truth all your life after all. Hope brings only regret.

19. Branded – Unequivocally. Forever. Iron sizzling on skin, marks that will never let you be somebody again. Always brought back to your lowest point, it doesn’t need to be physical to be there, mocking you.

20. “Don’t leave me here like this!” – Indignant, to hide the pain, the fear. The betrayal of loneliness, or maybe it begs for inclusion, consideration.

21. Last Hope – Feeble or undying, or maybe yet all on your shoulders. The weight of it crashing, an anchor in the sea of despair. Will you sink down with it?

22. Self Loathing – Maybe its what you did, what you are. Or maybe its what you failed to be or avoid. It burns, stains everything around it with the caustic knowledge of its truth.

23. Disgust – Visceral, instinctive, overpowering. Is it an action? A situation? Or maybe some lie finally uncovered?

24. Guilt – Slimy, just at the back of your throat. The pit in your stomach for what you’ve done or what you’ve missed. Who you failed. It’s hungry in it’s pursuit.

25. “How could you?” – Whispered in horror, chocked around blood, wheezed in one’s last moment. That’s always the question, isn’t it? How, how, how? Why, why, why?

26. Drowning – You can’t breath, there isn’t an up anymore. It’s all down, down deep and it fills your lungs, your mouth, your nose. It presses against the back of your eyes, replacing every bit of you.

27. Change – Unforgiving, undeniable. There is something different, something wrong that had to be pulled out or has been forced in. You’re unrecognizable.

28. Everything is a tool if you want it to be – How inventive the human mind is. How many inventions through the ages, advances and so much cruelty. Anything can buy you escape, time. Anything can hurt, if used in the right way.

29. Reversed roles – When the hunted becomes the hunter, the prey the predator, the victim the executioner. They say the abused become the abused, and the cycle is inescapable.

Innocence - What would you do to preserve it, what will be done to tarnish it?

You just let it happen - Bystander, victim or accomplice, perhaps you shouldn't have let it pass...

Fame - Intoxicating in its power, mesmerising in its influence.

Can't let go - Everything you've tried to, has claw marks in it.

Throwback Thursday #1: Coercion - Subtle application of threat, the brute force of physicality, or could it be someone’s will itself working into their brain?

I love you - I do I do I do I do I do.

Forgotten - And time moves on.

"You are beneath me." - How does the boot taste?

Horrifying concept, thank you - A small change in the world could be a nightmare.

Replaced - You aren't what you were. To yourself, to them.

Self-care - Why feel guilty for a little treat?

Throwback Thursday #2: Captivity - How long has it been? Does the sound of your captor getting closer bring fear or hope. Has it been long enough to become joy?

"Why won't you stay dead?!" - It keeps coming back to this, again and again and again.

"It wasn't me!!" - But why would they believe you?

Learning - Maybe some things are better left unknown

On Display - Like a product on a shelf, no hiding from the eyes.

Pick a Side - You're torn, of course you are, but the time has come where the only other option is to lose both.

"You came back?" - But is it too late? What's done is done.

Throwback Thursday #3: You weren't supposed to enjoy that... - Are they judging you? Really??

Well, well, if it isn't the consequences of my own actions... - How inconvenient and unexpected and harrowing for you.

Tragic Backstory - We all know you've done horrible things to your OCs that you haven't put anywhere else. ;)

Ownership - Mine.

It's just business - No need to get all personal about it.

Revenge - A dish best served however the hell you want.

Magnum Opus - One's greatest work, one that will go down in history.

Throwback Thursday #4: Obsession - Love? Hate? Lust? Fear? Worship? Whatever the case, it’s all they can think about.

Too good to be true - And thus...

Cultivation - What does it take to make this grow, for a good harvest?

BDSM done wrong - Self-explanatory, really. :3

Following Fiamma, Camille did not think she’d ever feel desire again. No one and nothing could ignite her passion as the strangely exotic girl once had. It broke something within her when Fiamma left. She’d never even gotten close to the girl, though no matter if she had, nothing would have been close enough for Camille's liking.

She performed her duties as she must, but lacking any of her usual luster and flair. She taught her girls their lessons and supervised her once treasured diving team, but her day to day always felt hollowed out; empty. She was positively devoid of feeling, and some days she wished only to scream. At least the rawness of her throat afterwards would be a feeling of some sort. Yet she resisted the urge.

It was torturous for Camille to not have something, or rather someone, to focus her thoughts. Someone to impress, charm, woo, that’s what she needed. She could regale the girls with tale after tale, both real and made up, but she never wanted attention from the masses. No, Camille wants singular devotion, one person to be sucked in by her as she is by her desire for them. And that was what was missing.

One morning, after suffering a particularly dull and dreary week prior, Camille woke up to a shift in the air. She wasn’t renewed with hope, but more of a cautious optimism. And it turns out she had a right to be optimistic. A new arrival was to brighten her day exponentially. It was at mealtime when she first crossed paths with the newest student at St. Mathilde's.

Aerla Grae came from Ireland. A recent incident that was not entirely divulged to Camille, had resulted in fifteen-year-old Aerla's transfer to the school. Camille was advised to keep a close eye on her. Following her colleague's gaze, Camille's own eyes first landed on Aerla, and she decided in that moment alone, that keeping watch of her was not going to be a problem.

Aerla sat alone at the end of one of the tables, keeping her distance from the other girls. Camille watched as she tucked her mass of red curls behind her ear in order to eat. Camille drew a deep, silent breath as she became transfixed by Aerla's every small movement.

It was apparent to her that she was nothing like Fiamma, not in looks, nor, Camille suspected, in personality, as Fiamma had been such a social creature, where it appeared Aerla had a much more individual nature. Aerla had also arrived here from another country, but that's where her similarity to Fiamma ended. Yet, all the same, Camille was utterly enchanted.

Spotting an open seat across the table from Aerla, Camille left her colleagues in favor of making the acquaintance of the newest member of their little school. As she slid into the vacancy, she caught the girl's attention. Aerla paused, fork halfway to her mouth, as the soft breeze from this stranger's arrival ghosted over her face. She sat down the bite of food and tilted her head, regarding the woman with curiosity.

"Miss Gribben," Camille introduced, offering her hand to Aerla from across the table. She briefly considered giving the girl her first name, but thought it best to stick to a more formal approach for now. Camille's heart leaped to her throat when Aerla took her hand to give it an awkward shake.

"Name's Aerla Grae, Miss," Aerla replied politely, though there was an edge to her voice that seemed to Camille as if the girl would rather have not been disturbed. At that, Camille should have left, but she couldn’t bring herself to do so. Instead, she stayed, remaining quiet so as not to disturb her further. Some of the other girls at the table cast suspicious glances down their way, but one glare from Camille and they went about their own business once more.

They were isolated at their end of the table, just as Camille wanted it to be. There was a danger in numbers. It had been that way with Fiamma. She vowed then that it would be different with Aerla. She wouldn’t let anyone come between them. Despite her efforts not to stare, Camille's eyes wandered back to Aerla time after time. She wanted to ask questions, get to know her, but the girl's standoffish tone gave her pause. She couldn’t push, or she’d resist, just as Fiamma had.

Camille attempted to push the thoughts of Fiamma out of her head. That was the past. She only need think of her in order to not repeat her past mistakes. It would only serve to depress and anger her to think of the wretched girl now. Now she had Aerla to think of. Aerla deserved her at her best, not sullen and moody. And she would prove herself in time. She just had to figure Aerla out and be what she needed her to be.

A thought nagged at the back of Camille's mind. In spite of herself, she voiced it. "Tell me, what exactly was it that brought you to St. Mathilde’s?"

Aerla seemed surprised by the question, as she froze, eyes widened. After she swallowed her bite of food, she answered with another question. "What have you been told?" She sounded accusatory, as if Camille already knew the truth of her situation and still wanted to hear the confession from her own lips.

"Only that there was an incident that resulted in you leaving your previous school for this one," Camille informed gently. Aerla seemed quick to anger, and that was the last thing Camille wanted to leave as a first impression.

"It was harmless," Aerla began in defense of herself, leaning in so as her story would reach Camille's ears only. "I kissed one of the girls at my last school." Camille's heart pounded in her chest at Aerla's admission. It began thudding so loudly in her ears that she feared she wouldn’t be able to hear the rest of Aerla's story. "We got caught in the stairway and the stupid girl blamed me. Said I'd taken advantage of her, when she wanted me to do it, but was too ashamed to admit to it. So I was expelled and sent here. I’m surprised they didn’t tell you. They had no problem telling everyone else as if I’m some sort of monster."

"You're not a monster," Camille was quick to reply. "You followed your heart, your desire, and that is the most important thing in life." This elicited a smile from Aerla, as Camille suspected she may have been the first one to stand up for her and take her side in this matter. Perhaps this would be her way into Aerla's heart.

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-> Chapter Two