A domesticated kind of fury / The inarticulate grief of girlhood

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𝖎. As Consciousness Is Harnessed to Flesh: Journals and Notebooks, Susan Sontag. 𝖎𝖎. The Perks of Being a Wallflower, Stephen Chbovsky. 𝖎𝖎𝖎. ? 𝖎𝖛. inanotherunivrse, Tumblr. 𝖛. Little Women, Greta Gerwig.
























 Little Women, Greta Gerwig

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'' I turn cruel when I am empty

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'' I turn cruel when I am empty.
If I cannot be loved, I must be feared. ''











Kathryn Elizabeth Darcy was all blade. Girl turned weapon. There were no round edges, just overall sharpness. She worried parents and people her age watched her with a kind of morbid fascination, because there was the girl who died, spit in the devil's face, and came back.

Realistically, she only came back from London, but that didn't stick to her mythic aura.

She hadn't missed the Outer Banks. There was a kind of filth that stuck to her the second she landed, and she knew it all too well. It was an old friend. In London, she barely passed as human, there was no hope for that here.

Filth calls to filth. Kooks are talking themselves hoarse about her. If Sarah Cameron was their princess, Kathryn was the forsaken queen who came back for more. Her mother would be proud; there's nothing quite like obsession. She's their new shiny toy. They love to pin a crown on her. They love to trample her to the ground. Most people have a story. The others are begging to get one.

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