i lit a fire } . calbraxas

Infinite darkness fills my chest. There is a void expanding to the ends of eternity in my heart (for a long time, I wasn't sure if I had one at all); I am empty- I thought I was before, but this hollowness is deeper, colder.

His gaze was a sword in my heart. I can’t quite comprehend it- how they tore through my flesh until stars flooded my vision. He left me with a void of my chest and disappeared into the night. In the wake of his presence, my lungs seem to turn to stone, standing still in refusal to drink in the air, all because it was tainted with the memory of him.

It didn’t register then, but it did when I no longer felt the rush of fire against the warmth of the sun- I didn’t want him to leave. The pistol strapped just beneath the skirt of my dress seemed to burn my flesh in a caustic jeer. ”You should have killed him,” it hisses. But the wound didn’t fester, and I can’t see the scars I thought it would leave behind.

(Kill only if you must.)

It is my rule in my code, crafted by my hands. I could lie to myself, say that I was just upholding the Code of the Wolf Pack, but lies get old. They spin around and around like an old record- and then they never leave once they make their mark. I have seen them across my own flesh in the mirror- long, jagged, and white. I have mastered the art, but no one can scrub away their filth, not even me. The truth has already planted its seed deep within me, and with every passing moment, every flutter of a heart taking a beat, I can feel its roots sprawling across every part of me. It creeps into my veins and my bones, coiling itself around and around and around in an impossible tangle.

”Because you can’t bear to watch her die again,” I had said with resentment blunt in my voice. He is no innocent caught in the crossfire between two warring gangs; he and I have a great deal of darkness in common. It would not have been against the Code to end him- perhaps he does deserve a bullet buried in his skull. But I have never been one for fairness-

and I know, with every part of me, that I couldn’t bear to destroy him.

Abraxas Morrigan. The name leaves a bittersweet taste in my mouth.

I drag my feet across cobblestone paths, kicking pebbles and stones on my way. Numb with bewilderment by my previous encounter, my mind travels beyond District Nine and twists itself into tangles. I can’t think straight- I’ve lost my sense of direction and time, but only a pathetically small piece of me cares. Perhaps it is oblivion, and not the night, that engulfs me. But fear cannot set foot here, for darkness is mine. If it is a void

Everything in my head from tonight comes up fuzzy and broken when I try to recall it to the surface. My memory is an oil pastel painting, and someone has cast their hand across its colors and smudged them all into turmoil. But the party and his words and his face and the way his voice broke when he saw my face is clear as a bell. It is carved into me- into more than just my mind.

Only the streetlamps show me the way. Without them, I would be utterly lost beyond return in the dark; my bones would rest there. But the shops that line the streets and the lamps that shed gold and warmth upon me all blur together as one; they look all the same to my numb, numb mind. It is a dark labyrinth, and I have no golden thread to trace the paths.

I threw my mask down somewhere along my way here. It is buried somewhere in this sea of oblivion with everything else. There is nothing to hide anymore, not beneath the protection of the stars and the moon. Hiding my face has become second nature to me, just so my ears can be spared from bleeding against the ring of ”Hannah O’Leary”. The mask was a shield from Bloodworth’s prying eyes, but it was more than just that: it was a symbol of the shadow Hannah left me to suffocate beneath. And I despise all of it, with every bit of cold hatred I have within me. I had spat, ”Fuck this, fucking everything,” when I ripped the mask away and let it fall to the ground. I hope it rots there.

My feet, sore and throbbing from the confines of my high heeled shoes, beg me to let them carry me home to fall into the haven of my covers and sleep until the next day is done. But I can’t bring myself to go home, not empty-handed and no progress on locating Xanthe. If my sisters are not anxiously awaiting my return, craning their necks and straining their eyes to catch a glimpse of me, they will undoubtedly be ready to scrounge my head for answers the moment the sun punches its fist through the darkness.

I cannot go home, but I cannot stay out here, either.

”Fuck this, fuck everything.” My tone reminds me of the growl of a wolf, low and cruel.

Shuffling, kicking pebbles, swearing endlessly under my breath- I am truly spiraling in a void.

[presto][/presto]