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To everyone who never believed in fairytales because they understood the villain.
🧡
“Eventually everything connects ” — Charles Eames
It has always been better to remain quiet than risk speaking words no one believes.
I can’t breathe, ever. Why can’t anyone see that? Can they not see me turning purple? The hands of my mind choking me?
“I don’t think anyone understands what’s happening to me.” “They can’t see the demons, can they?”
“Life left you empty so that you’d have room to fill it. We are only hollow if we allow ourselves to remain that way.”
I’m not okay, and right now? That’s enough.
I’d always thought it was beautiful, his grief. A living reminder of a love lost too soon.
“They say I’m dead on the inside.” “They call me cursed. I wonder which is worse?”
“I had to learn how not to live for the trauma and loss. I’m living in spite of it. Don’t let him win.”
Death isn’t the enemy. It’s time.
I’ve always believed love is like water, the way it flows between bodies and souls. You can’t stop the flow of it because one pathway is closed off. It just finds another exit.
There isn’t a single person in this world who will look out for you better than yourself.
What they believe of me doesn’t keep me up at night. Demons do.
It’s not beauty that keeps their attention—a lot of women are beautiful. There is something else, something unexplainable about her allure.
I’m a killer, but I was also raised to respect women’s boundaries.
respectful stalker, that's nice
I’m not good. I’m fucked-up, and there is no fixing it.
The mind is a dangerous place, and mine has been taken over by a storm, spiraling, drowning me while I desperately search for an anchor amidst the raging wind.
Smooth and calm as the night sky. Silas Hawthorne.
It’s his voice. The same one that mumbled in my ear through a phone speaker and kept me from jumping to my death. It’s a blend of darkness and warmth, a low rumble that emerges from the depths of his chest. A single candle flickering in an abyss of nothingness.
My body seeks his, looking for…I don’t know. Comfort? Calm?
“Coraline.” He whispers my name like a secret. “Breathe for me, Hex. Breathe.”
i'm a hex girl and i'm gonna put a spell on you ✨
All it takes is one person to know how weak you are on the inside, just one, to destroy you.
I’m the spindle lover boys prick their fingers on. I leave them comatose with only the memory of my touch.
I’m not the princess. I’m the rotten apple. The poison made to demolish happily ever afters.
Even if she’s rotting away on the inside, her voice has to stay alive, or she will have no chance of making it.
Heal on your terms, not mine.”
words to live by 🕊️
Inside of me lives a spell that crushes the hearts of men. My bones are built from a hex, dark magic that drives boys mad. This curse I live with makes love a lethal weapon. Falling for me is not the fear. It’s what happens when I fall for them. Every man I have ever loved has either disappeared, died, or lost their mind.
She is a mirage, a naturally occurring optical phenomenon that bends light rays to produce the image of a girl who is a familiar face but is unknown beneath the surface.
A lot of women are beautiful, but this is how she quietly absorbs attention, unaware of the effect she has on others. It’s in the way she walks, gestures when she talks, her posture.
“They say you don’t talk much. Yet, that doesn’t seem to be the case.” “With you.”
LQISJSHZHIAISHSHZJ
The little string of fate that refused to let me take my eyes off her in that club. It hummed between us like a secret. It kills her that she can’t pick up the scissors and cut it. It kills me that I want more of it.
Harshly beautiful, with very few accents of softness on her face.
I’m not her enemy. I’m a threat. Coraline is attracted to me, and that bothers her. Bothers her so much, I might get the worst of her venom if I push a little too hard.
Could the cursed woman of Ponderosa Springs be my saving grace?
YES
There is this need in me to tell her that she’s safe with me. That for some reason, I know I’ll let nothing bad touch her. Not when I’m around.
“You don’t want to be attached to someone like me. This is me returning another favor. If you believe anything this town tells you? Believe that I’m cursed.”
Men can’t get close to me and make it out. Dead men tell no tales.
When you’re alone, no one can hurt you. But that’s the thing. When you’re alone, no one can help you either.
In my darkest moments, when panic claws at my chest and threatens to consume me, it has been his voice, the memory of it, that has pulled me back from the edge time and time again. And I have no idea why. There is something in it, a note or a hum, something that soothes. It sings lullabies to my racing heart until it returns to a normal beat. Despite everything, I can’t deny what it does for me.
Silas Hawthorne is the keeper of secrets. The unstoppable force and immovable object. Silent water, with unknown depths filled with mysteries he will take to his grave.
The way he sees clear through me, able to see what I need without me saying it. As if when he looks at me, he can hear every thought that passes through my brain.
There is a softness to Silas, one the rumors never spoke about. A stillness that the harsh stories left out. Like he’s in tune with my emotions, everyone’s emotions around him, knowing exactly when his attention is needed.
The thought of being vulnerable makes me sick, but there’s something safe about him.
He is a stoic statue, meant to be admired but never truly understood. Silas embodies the idea that a person’s presence can speak volumes without a single word needed.
“The loss of innocence is inevitable. Happens to us all. You can’t stop fate, Hex.”
Silas is the quiet type of handsome. It is not shouted. It’s whispers in your ear in the dark.
He’s the sound goosebumps make when they appear along my arms, an allure mirrored only by cold air skating across warm skin.
“In private, you can call all the shots. But to the rest of the world? You’re fucking mine, and I don’t share.”
I’m not a thing to be owned, never again. But I can’t deny that the idea of letting Silas Hawthorne control my body turns me on.
