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I always wanted something more, something else, and if I got it I wanted the next thing, and there was always something to want. Craving gnawed at me. I wanted things so badly, with a desire that was so sharp it gouged me, and the process of wanting often took up far more time and imaginative space than the actual person, place, or thing, or the imaginary thing possessed more power than the real one.
Living Kills 𓃶.Stranger Things
Edna Eloise was named a killer.
It was a name she grew up too, to fill in the big brown boots, with pieces of leather that were chipped away like faded mirrors. But there's a truth when it rings through her rotten head that made an endless ache fill the back of her throat when the word was spat at her like venom with a tongue of a snake. It bruised the layers of her skin till it got to her rotten bones. Angry, and bitter. Making a home. The effects of the venom. It was every time a new would stare approaching her asking why she was the way she was, she would sink into the familiar non-existent sand that would hold her feet down, and bury her under. Because with every time she had to answer, her tongue laced with a filthy lie, it reminded her of her mother.
