Eight.
Tone for the story: Same as Seven. Bonus points for knowing.
He'd walked out moments ago, and she refused to stop him. He didn't want it.
She knew him. She knew every tick of the clock that made him what he was. She'd read every page in his novel of life, and had hung to every word. Only...
She burned the book when he decided enough was enough.
The dusty book demanded her attention. She read the lines but didn't read the text.
Memories were for nothing. She had loved them so in the past, but they had become ammunition turned against her recently. She was a breaking column on the verge of collapse, and there was no way she'd let any more wounds enter her body. No way in hell would she let herself fall. She was in this for herself; no one else.
The lines melded together into one stream of faded text ink. A sigh was heaved.
She was such a liar, though.
She wanted to be there for just herself, but she never could kill her care for him. It was the one thing that survived the catastrophe that was so long ago. She had let him kill himself, yet she often found herself concerned about his roaming spirit. Eventually she realized he wasn't truly dead, only severely injured. He came back, hurting but no longer blind, and she couldn't...
She couldn't let him just fade.
She looked up and towards the doorway.
So reluctantly she had repaired him. Healed his wounds and taught him to walk again. She was his midnight voice of reason; something she had wanted to be for so long. It was so strange that when she rejected the idea, it would become exactly what she was. His midnight voice of reason... The hidden little vault in which so many secrets hid.
She wondered if she'd missed one. Or if he was missing hers.
After a pause, she decided to get up and venture to the next room.
There would be no way she'd ever reveal her soul again. Not to him. Not after so long ago. Things had reversed; he wanted to say so much while she wanted to speak so little. She knew it... she felt it. He was trying to push so much out of her, and all for what? What did he want to hear?
More so, would it be anything she sincerely meant? Did he see into her more than she was aware of?
Hesitation.
For a moment, it was like seeing herself outside of her own body. An uncertain force, unsure of whether to risk herself or stay in insane security. What was she to do?
A step forward made the trip easier.
Risk it all, dear girl. After all, it was something that had yet to die.
He'd walked out moments ago, and she refused to stop him. He didn't want it.
She knew him. She knew every tick of the clock that made him what he was. She'd read every page in his novel of life, and had hung to every word. Only...
She burned the book when he decided enough was enough.
The dusty book demanded her attention. She read the lines but didn't read the text.
Memories were for nothing. She had loved them so in the past, but they had become ammunition turned against her recently. She was a breaking column on the verge of collapse, and there was no way she'd let any more wounds enter her body. No way in hell would she let herself fall. She was in this for herself; no one else.
The lines melded together into one stream of faded text ink. A sigh was heaved.
She was such a liar, though.
She wanted to be there for just herself, but she never could kill her care for him. It was the one thing that survived the catastrophe that was so long ago. She had let him kill himself, yet she often found herself concerned about his roaming spirit. Eventually she realized he wasn't truly dead, only severely injured. He came back, hurting but no longer blind, and she couldn't...
She couldn't let him just fade.
She looked up and towards the doorway.
So reluctantly she had repaired him. Healed his wounds and taught him to walk again. She was his midnight voice of reason; something she had wanted to be for so long. It was so strange that when she rejected the idea, it would become exactly what she was. His midnight voice of reason... The hidden little vault in which so many secrets hid.
She wondered if she'd missed one. Or if he was missing hers.
After a pause, she decided to get up and venture to the next room.
There would be no way she'd ever reveal her soul again. Not to him. Not after so long ago. Things had reversed; he wanted to say so much while she wanted to speak so little. She knew it... she felt it. He was trying to push so much out of her, and all for what? What did he want to hear?
More so, would it be anything she sincerely meant? Did he see into her more than she was aware of?
Hesitation.
For a moment, it was like seeing herself outside of her own body. An uncertain force, unsure of whether to risk herself or stay in insane security. What was she to do?
A step forward made the trip easier.
Risk it all, dear girl. After all, it was something that had yet to die.