Tw: this book will deal with triggering topics. If you are easily triggered this is not the story for you, thank you.
(Book three in the Starlight series)
─── · 。ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───
Danika Archeron was a damn god.
No longer would she be broken, no...
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"And as you can see, I am not dead."
─── · 。ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───
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MY ROOM was just as stuffy as I remembered. Two small windows and a little balcony being the only source of fresh air. The bed was a canopy, decorated with a pink, floral comforter and accented by the wallpaper, consisting of vines and budding red roses.
It was odd being in this room and feeling nothing other than disgust and the overwhelming urge to cringe. No sadness, no irrevocable grief or guilt, no despair. Truly the most pressing issue as I beheld the room with the utterly blinding interior design.
It looked like a flower pixie vomited up it's breakfast. And I would be forced to look upon this nature barf for weeks. Maybe months...years.
I refused to indulge those thoughts. Whatever it took, I was willing. Whatever it cost, I would give. My time, my soul, my mind. All of it.
The cold stone of the balcony railing chilled my skin as I rested my forearms against it, the wind rushing back and sweeping the cool scent of spring up my nose. I inhaled deeply, allowing the soothing smell to snake through my mind.
I did like spring. The rain that followed the greening of the land, the thundering storms, ever blooming flowers, watching winter fade, my birthday was in spring...I liked those things. The small things. But this—this spring was suffocating. Everlasting. Unending and muddled. This spring felt like living under water while the tides retreated back out to sea. Holding my breath and hoping to find the beauty of inevitable death.
Part of me was thankful I was to go back to Hybern in two weeks, if only for a change of scenery. But...I was merely trading suffocation for cruelty.
My life had become a carnival.
A day. I had been here less than a day and I already wanted to go home. Though, suppose that's natural when you don't even get to say goodbye to all that you've grown accustomed to. Forsaking what you've worked for only to take twelve steps back and become the person you hate once more.
