violetta yov-maoi | eight . fin

( "kimmie yov-maoi!" )

her name echoed across the town square. a hitched breath and then come the screams. kimmie was a bitch, but she was a yov-maoi. she was family, your blood and bone. you remember her walking to the stage, her legs shaking and her mouth pursed. empty pleads leave your lips. and then she was gone. we you don't talk about her anymore.

the summer air nips at the corners of your wrinkled sweater. you twist your finger around the loose strands of your chestnut hair. pink lips wrap around the end of a cigarette. nicotine flares and you're enchanted by the sensation. a relaxing feeling floats throughout your body. a sigh escapes your lips. you were once frilly dresses and red lipstick, now your cigarettes and heroin. your hand finds the needle that was nestled in your pocket, an oily looking liquid sits at its base. you don't question yourself when you inject the liquid into your bloodstream.

what would remus think of you? you don't know, and you don't care. you are on a high, a peacefulness cloud flying proudly in the sky, and you are the queen. there was an emptiness void in you after kimmie died,  and then cigarettes & heroin filled the void. there was something so addicting about the feeling of separating from the real world and entering the high. 

people once compared you to a doll. porcelain skin and a pink ornate dress, doe eyes staring out. you were no longer mommy's little doll. shaky hands and puffy eyes.

you are a nebula at night. a string of hues floating in a galaxy of ecstasy and euphoria.

you are a cloud during the day. a summer light on a fluffy throne.

you live in an unstable home. mother and father didn't care, they lusted for power and glory. abused the death of kimmie to earn sympathy. so you don't care about them anymore. they used to shower you with cuddles and kisses of doting love, now they smack you with unjustified animosity. remus was good to you, but he didn't understand you. a brave soul, but he wouldn't last. you prefer to not care so you don't get let down by the world around you.

ma used to take you around the district, see the clothing shops and textile factories. you loved seeing the silk and satin dresses through the glass. smushed your face up against it to get a better look. ma told you that wasn't ladylike. you did it anyways. the factories gave you a headache, the tired workers and the steam pounded against your head. you dragged your mother out so you didn't have to bear the pain. ma doesn't do these things anymore. she doesn't do anything with you, maybe a scowl and a glare once and a while but that's it.

you called to the skies and asked the gods to strike you down. a bolt of lighting and the smell of a churning body. your bones buried under a grave no one visited. you weren't made for this life, a fragile mind easily broken by games. look at yourself now, you can't tell me you aren't broken. violetta didn't care about dying or losing anymore. the more you didn't care the more you weren't afraid. that's the way you live now.

a cigarette lies between your lips. the stone wall you are sitting upon stands above the cemetery. your eyes scan a familiar name, your sisters. it's one of the few moments you actually cared in the last few years. but you turn you head away, life is better when you aren't caring or afraid. you hop off the stone wall, landing on the gravel. you walk away from the cemetery, leaving your feelings and your sister behind you.