ｃｈｒｙｓｓｉｅ

ｓｅｃｒｅｔ

It was early in the morning, but Chryssie could already hear Grayson and Kingston fighting in the other room.

Moaning with discontent, she wished that she could just fall back into a peaceful slumber, a dreamscape where everything was perfect and everyone got along. The desire for this was partly fuelled by her unwillingness to listen to them bicker about anything they bloody could. However, there was a small guilty part of her, a minuscule piece of her mind that screamed furiously at her for forgiving him so easily. Her resolve had crumbled so quickly, it was disgusting.

Then again, what wasn't?

She had become a mess in the past month or so - but hadn't she always been a mess? Perhaps she had only been forced to realise it recently, and that was why it had been so hard. Happiness had been a mere placebo, but she hadn't figured it out until it was too late. Years and years of blissful delusion stacked upon each other, all collapsing down on her at once. It had crushed her completely - splintered ribs and ripped skin and blood gushing from misplaced veins.

She had been ruined, her eyes forced open, and she could see the world for what it really was.

But she had not died. She had laid there, broken and useless, for what seemed like ages. Surprisingly, that had allowed much time for self reflection.

And then there had been him.

Half angel, half demon, he was a ticking time bomb, a shattered mirror. But seven years of bad luck was nothing compared to what he could do. He was a builder of worlds, but only so he could tear them apart mercilessly once he grew tired of their contents.

(oh, but he won't ever grow tired of you.)

He was the one that had pushed at the foundation of her existence, tugged at the strings until it had unravelled. He was responsible for the pain and the blood and the

(almost)

death. He was the one that had emerged from the fire that he had caused, and carried her out of it. A silver-tongued seraph that had sweet-talked his way out of the Seventh Layer of Hell, she probably would have fallen deeply in love if he hadn't destroyed her knowledge of everything.

(no, you lusted after him instead.)

And then, the seraph had sobbed. Tears of pure gold, falling down cheeks carved by the likes of Michelangelo himself, and she had been told the only reason he destroyed worlds was because his had been ruined before he understood. He had not found another one until he saw hers, and decided that it was perfect for him.

(you've always loved broken things.)

But his actions were not excused. They would never be, and perhaps that was why Chryssie felt so awful about wanting him. It was sick, and so was she, but at that point, she was surprisingly alright with it.

Closing her eyes, she waited silently, and like magic, the quarrelling suddenly stopped. A hope rose in her throat, and she decided that maybe she could finally calm her nerves -

"I can't even believe you, you fucking wanker, not telling me anything - "

"Everything always goes wrong when I tell you things!"