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No. Not today. Death can claim me when it finds a less pathetic way to end my existence.
“I’m still waiting to hear a fruit you don’t find repulsive.” He’s quiet for a moment, pondering his answer while his thumb runs idly over my own. “Strawberries.”
That’s because strawberries are superior
I feel fingers combing through my hair, weaving loose strands together as I whisper, “What are you doing?” He ducks his head close to mine, and I feel his lips brush against my hair when he murmurs, “Practicing.”
All ive ever wanted was someone to play with my hair as i fall asleep. So relaxing.
His eyes are mesmerizing, like melted steel, morning fog.
“Call me anything you like. I’ll never pass up the chance to hear your voice, darling.”
“What do you want to call me?” “I want to call you mine
“Look at me and tell me you don’t feel the same.” Silence. And then— “I don’t feel the same, Kai.”
COLLLLLDDDDDD I dont think i could say the same.
“Not only do you have to be the first contestant to reach the middle, but you must also kill the person that awaits you there.”
Why do i feel like A will be waiting for her…
“Adena?” This can’t be right. This can’t be happening.
I CALLED IT
They broke her fingers.
Horrible fucks!!! The resistance is so justified from these brutes. How A could have so much grace in these moments… crazy. Also, intentionally fucked up knowing she needed her fingers to do her job.
Her sewing hands. Her talented fingers. Broken. Then they broke her.
“Admit it,” I spit, “you lied to create your Elite society. There is no disease spread by Ordinaries. We don’t weaken the Elites or their powers.” “I did what was necessary, and you have no proof.”
Its crazy that the attitude is guilty until proven innocent… believe rumors first, ask questions second.
The memory of the night my father died suddenly seems so fuzzy, so unfocused. Where I once thought I saw the face of the king, I now see a blurry body. I can’t make out any of the details, can’t seem to recall anything about my father’s killer.
I called it.
I reach out with trembling fingers and close them, unable to stand seeing Kitt’s eyes so lifeless.
WHAAAAAATTT
Call it a sense of dread or duty—I can’t tell the difference anymore.
And with that, I swing the door behind me and let the silent tears fall, mourning the death of two men tonight.
