𝐃𝐈𝐌𝐈𝐍𝐔𝐓𝐈𝐕𝐄 𝐄𝐅𝐅𝐎𝐑𝐓 - 𝐿. 𝐿𝑎𝑤𝑙𝑖𝑒𝑡 ♘

𝟎𝟏𝟏.

❝ some may call it 𝒂 𝒄𝒖𝒓𝒔𝒆 ❟ a life 𝒍𝒊𝒌𝒆 𝒎𝒊𝒏𝒆. ❞

──────── CHIYO DREAMT OF GAUDY, red ribbons curling atop painful wounds, watery howls, flinchingly crass cruelties faint in her mind as ferocious protests rung out throughout her, battling her psyche. When morn penetrated through her opaque curtains and her eyes started to burn, she blinked erratically, a useless attempt to soothe the nasty pink that stained her murky eyes. She moaned in pain, feverishly gagging on a stray hair that clung to her tongue. Keeling over at a violent paroxysmal cough, Chiyo grit her teeth torturously as a sharp pain shot through her head before settling into a torrential throb behind her brow bone. Chiyo shakily wiped her upper lip, her fingers greased over from the sweat beads that distressingly cooled her.

 The girl coughed again, a hand shooting to her head and pressing into it harshly, groaning miserably at an ache that made her twist her head around despairingly, her neck limp.  Previously, she had found it hard to be repentant; a young, bright 29 year old woman, teeming with potential and ideas that could fuel a hydra of revolution, who took pride in cleanliness and beauty of a mind and soul strengthened by a multitude of experiences. It was her own fault really; failure to hide her sins well enough, to stifle her devilish ambitions that changed within herself as time went on to conform to her own personal pleasure had led to a downfall comparable to Icarus. Chiyo Aoki now felt herself chanting hazy renunciations of her first progenitor— herself. Or what had been her. 

Soon it became hard to grasp her fearsome words evoked by regret and sickly pains that purposefully clutched her as she herself clutched her pillow to her cheek, crying with banality that felt so horribly cliched and annoyingly cruel. Had she not suffered enough? Cried and begged enough? She hated herself, hated herself so wholly and completely she might've passed then and there as a gesture of her sentiments. But she couldn't, she couldn't give in to temptation or fear as she had unjustly done so for more than a century, she had started to grasp at the palpability of her own acts, she had begun to change as her fever heightened. Nothing could come of her now but falseness if she chose to remain terrible, and such a choice would be contrary to her recent nature. For hours she endured, kicking her feet out painfully as her breath grew labored with delusion. Over hours of half thoughts and wild pondering that twisted criticisms of her mind left her to slowly petition for an impossible answer, a senseless attempt at atonement. It was then that she made a hazy decision that would contribute to her demise, although not one that she would ever regret. A vain and contemptuous woman now a tender and determined competitor for her own sake, to be good, to be well, to love, to die. 

And never come back. 

Unedited.