What Is Wrong With Me?
12-07-2013, 05:13 AM
How could she sum up her life in simple worlds, to make it stroked with colors besides black and red? How could she ever look at anyone and tell them how she truly felt, the way she wanted to feel, the way she wanted them to make her feel. How could she live this life without regrets? Without wondering if there was anything more than this bleak exists in this world filled with so much pain and suffering. They all deserved to die, death would give them release, and it was the least she could do to say I love you. Regret was clawing at the back of her throat as she tilted her head to the side. The wind picked up and ripped around her, tears stung her eyes as she swallowed back a sea of emotions, currents that tugged at her soul. Faces, so many faces, she's killed or harmed for her goals, her ambitions, to make her bloodline proud. The life she took between her paws and snuffed out with a mixture of poison, or a dab of berries. The memories of laughing as the writhed on the ground in pain. She wanted to be more, so much more. But she knew that she could not. She would have to play the part the villain, one day a hero would rise up, and slay her wicked soul with kindness and love before clasping his teeth around her neck and killing her. That would be a pleasurable death, she didn't want to die alone, but she felt like, no she knew that she would. So frozen in time she waited, her body sore as she stared out across the land. Claws digging into the snow as a soft sigh escaped her lips as the liquid edges of her soul froze again. She was Chill, master of poisons, mistress of deceit, and queen of the rouges. She would not cry because she lacked emotions where everyone else had them in such warm and vibrant colors. She would make her own emotions and give that darkness to the world. Speech, |