༉♡‧₊˚.✧⁀➷
CELAENA WINKMAN was looking for a home.
ANTHONY LOCKWOOD was willing to give it to her.
A story about a girl who craved a place that would show her the meaning of family.
More can be found inside...
( anthony lockwood x fem!OC )
( season 1...
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✩.♡.✩
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I didn't choose this town I dream of getting out There's just one who could make me stay
– You're On Your Own, Kid (Taylor Swift)
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My newest distraction became the one activity I dreaded the most: checking sources. Because ever since I got back here, there had been a void in my heart that couldn't be filled. So I buried myself in work because at least that could lead my thoughts away from my new-found friends – or ex friends. Mum hadn't returned to our previous topic. She became her cold self once again and father was... well, father. Thankfully, he didn't ask me to give him company while he talked to his customers anymore. Maybe he was scared I'd leave again? Surely he wasn't. Maybe there was no one with the same fate as John. Yes, that must have been the reason. After all, he'd made it pretty clear what the consequences would be if anyone dared to cross him.
However, working this much took its toll on me as well, which meant that I spent the nights deeply asleep in my bed. Sometimes I was lucky to not receive any dreams, but sometimes the memories from Portland Row haunted me. They were like a plague I couldn't get rid of. It was even worse than a nightmare. Because nightmares weren't real. They didn't happen and their only source was the wild imagination of my brain. But there were the scenarios of Lockwood trying to teach me how to fight with a rapier or Lucy and I talking about anything before falling asleep – they did happen. I experienced them so I knew exactly what I was missing. I knew what kind of life I had the chance to live even for a little while. It was a life of colours while this life was painted in dark shadows.
Father didn't ask any questions. I had no idea what mum had told him to leave me alone but I was partly glad to slip away from his interrogation. Because if he asked, what could I possibly tell him? That for once I felt like a real part of something? That I wasn't just a tool? That I felt like I was being cared for? At last?
