𝗙𝗢𝗥𝗟𝗢𝗥𝗡 ━━ shortstory.

d o

𓆸

“I’m sorry.”

The scene refused to stop playing in front of her inner eye as Amaris strode with long steps; her luggage in her one hand and her coat tightly hugged around her, held by the other.

“I’m sorry,” she had said, her voice was neutral; it hadn’t sound sorry at all.

Isadora had lifted up her head; her lips were chapped, there had been tiny pimples on her face which was unusual because her skin always used to be so clear, her hair was unkempt, and her emerald eyes that once sparked with warmth had been replaced with an emptiness that send a chill through Amaris’ body.

“Why? What is that supposed to mean?” She had responded, her voice was flat and hard as a stove lid.

Amaris could still feel the sharp pain seizing her chest. She hugged her coat tighter and softly cursed at the disappointing weather under her breath.

“I can’t keep doing this, Isadora. . .”

The redhead’s breath had hitched, tears, probably angry tears, had welled up in her widened, emerald eyes. “Are you fucking leaving me?” She had roared, her face was almost as red as her hair.

“Stop,” Amaris whispered, a soft, broken plea. Her brain ignored her though, and kept playing the scene over and over again. She walked faster. Stop, stop, stop.

“Isadora. . .”

“Fucking answer me, Amaris!”

Faster, faster, faster.

“Yes,” No, no, no. “I am.”

Amaris halt in her steps and let go of her luggage as a realization struck her: she had nowhere to go. Then, she broke down. Once the first tear broke free, the rest followed in an unbroken stream.

She was hollow, and nobody was there to reach into her hollowness.