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Don't call me kid, don't call me baby
· ━━━━ · ✣ · ━━━━ ·
The days blurred into nights; the only way she distinguished them was what hour it was when she gasped awake from her bad dreams.
Her pillow was always wet from her cycle of never ending tears.
Addy rarely left the room Fleur gave her, buried beneath her comforters that she couldn't find comfort in and her chest hurt from how hard she worked to muffle her cries.
She always thought of her mother in the right moments during that small window of peace she barely grasped. Or perhaps it was the wrong moment.
Her fault. Her fault.
The words were written into the stars, engraved in the flowerbeds, and washed up by oceans.
Her fault. Her fault.
She pressed her face into her damp pillow, beginning to hyperventilate with the thoughts that poked her uncomfortably in her ribs.
Why was she so headstrong? Why did she have to dare and challenge everyone by stating Voldemort's name like it was a contest and the reward was being caught by the Death Eaters?
She hated herself so much.
Addy let out a shuddering breath as she reached up to wipe the messy tears from her bleak cheeks, cringing at the iciness of her wooden fingertips.
The repeated consideration melted into her mind like metal: will pain come along on her trip to death?
She wondered what the consequences of standing from her bed and sliding open the window. She wondered if anyone would care if she let the wind carry her down the fatal tumble.
Addy was close, extremely close to stand and perceive her clairvoyance. But she wasn't going to.
She was still there, and she deserved to bask in the grievance and sorrow for the rest of her life.
Her throat was sore from the many cries that escaped her caged lips, tired of the endless affairs which tasted like the copper of handcuffs. She was sick of feeling like she was unwanted and unloved; the only thing her fragile heart desired was a break with the world.
