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The trees whispered to each other, rocking back and forth in the icy northern wind, the leaves rustling like a thousand butterfly wings.
And then she reached the end of the woods.
Their hair was lank and loose, no matter the color. The one nearest to her, a woman with waist length dirty blond hair, smiled eerily at her, showing her pointed teeth.
“Anna,” she said in greeting, in her raspy, toneless voice. “How good to see you again.”
It throbbed inside her, leaking from her in her tears that spilled over her muddy hands, that hit the earth and disappeared.
She felt as if she were the one with an open wound, blood spurting out of her. It was murderer’s pain. Even as she sobbed into the ground, she fought for justification. She’d been ordered to. She’d had to. But she didn’t have to; she had chosen this. There was no vindication. She was guilty.
And she longed for punishment.
There came a time when Anna, curled into a ball, trying to keep the broken, guilt-ridden pieces of herself together in one smoldering pile, found that she had no more tears left to shed. That the pain inside her was still raw and aching, but it was bearable. That her thoughts were clear and very much there. That her body moved and operated at just one thought from her brain. That she would follow no more orders that were not her own.
The trees whispered to each other, rocking back and forth in the icy northern wind, the leaves rustling like a thousand butterfly wings.
… curves of the hills, till she could no longer distinguish …
…and that even seemed quieter than before.
her eyes peeled and her eyes pricked
It was murderer’s pain.
She spread her arms wide, taking [s]in[/s] one last deep breath, before throwing herself off the edge.
The full moon hung in the middle of the black void of the sky, outshining by far any of the stars. Moonlight crept around the canopy and a few bars of silvery light hit the forest floor. She stepped around them, ducking into deeper shadows, finding that half-way place in her mind where she was neither awake nor asleep. She flitted, skillfully and somewhat dreamily, around tree trunks and over mossy logs.
Even in its good years, the abbey had been nothing but gloomy and formidable. Now it was derelict. The little cluster of stone buildings were abandoned and slumped, with a few walls that looked as if they had been eaten by some giant. The cemetery jutted out from the side, a rickety fence enclosing the tombstones that have been worn down by wind and time to shapeless stones.
Pain. That was it. It throbbed inside her, leaking from her in her tears that spilled over her muddy hands, that hit the earth and disappeared. It clawed up her throat, scrabbling to make her bleed as much as possible. She felt as if she were the one with an open wound, blood spurting out of her. It was murderer’s pain. Even as she sobbed into the ground, she fought for justification. She’d been ordered to. She’d had to. But she didn’t have to; she had chosen this. There was no vindication. She was guilty
pudin.junidf wrote:.
Question, is this all? I think it is, because she throws herself off the edge. And it doesn't suck, ok?. It's really good.
The trees whispered to each other, rocking back and forth in the icy northern wind, the leaves rustling like a thousand butterfly wings. With the murmuring of the forest and the distant rumbling of waves breaking on the rocky shore, the night echoed a kind of din, white noise that buzzed in her ears.
The full moon hung in the middle of the black void of the sky, outshining by far any of the stars.
she saw distant trees twisting upward as if they were alive.
gently curved knife in its sheath.
“Simon did this,” hissed the female. She was no longer smiling. In fact, her white eyes flashed dangerously. Quietly, Anna put a hand inside the pouch containing the cold salt. Salt to burn, she intoned, iron to bleed away. Salt to burn, iron to bleed, salt to burn, iron to bleed . . .
It came back then, the determination, the purpose, the movement. But most of all, the thoughtlessness. Anna welcomed it gladly. As if in a daze, she killed them all. It was simply, easy, quick; and once they were dead, she didn’t have to look at them anymore. Most of them rotted on the ground as soon as she impaled them.
.She gazed down at her feet, where in the pool of liquid she saw a face looking back at her. It was pale, smooth, and pointed, the features harsh and severe. Black hair that was tied back, a red mouth and sharp white teeth, and dark, endless eyes that seemed hollow. A senseless, uncaring, cruel expression. It didn’t care.
And she was looking at herself
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