phobia
(“Everyone is afraid of something.”)
oh fie, miss.
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you'll be dead again tomorrow,
but in dreams you live.
but in dreams you live.
(“Everyone is afraid of something.”)
Prince of Hell, demon of lust. It’s quite an apt description of him, honestly.
“Unbelievable.” He spits the word out like tobacco, harsh and sudden and a brown stain on the otherwise pristine reputation of his all-important Vongola Decimo.
“Un-be-fucking-lievable.”
(She doesn’t flinch.)
Constant. Never-changing.
One plus one, two. Three, square root nine. Numbers stay constant. Numbers never change.
(Most of the time, at least.)
She is a marionette tangled in her own strings, unable to move (think) (feel) – she is the leftovers, tossed away (abandoned) (forgotten). Her worn, brittle, wooden body is pushed into the darkness where no one will see. The ones who carved her look at her and think, this is not something I am proud to have made. They look at her, compare her to the gleaming puppets and pristine ornaments that surround them, come to the obvious conclusion that she is nothing but an eyesore
a failure
a reject.