I rise to meet you as your trust dissolves to shameoh, this innocence has turned and lost its wayretrace the footprints off the path from which I cameI'm the beast in you, the beast in me
The ruckus seemed to have consumed all but the tiny, forgotten home and the one who rested within it. The crowd outside was like white static to her as she laid curled in a corner, nothing but a meaningless sound, but it somehow eased her into peace. It helped keep thoughts away--she disliked to think. Whenever she thought, she would always think about something bad, eventually. One would think memories would fade away at one point in time, lose strength, like a wound would scar. No, her thoughts never did erode over time, not even when so many moons had passed. She counted the cycles, and noted that it had been more than twelve complete rebirths of the lunar orb since the day Winter left her. Taken away, she softly chided. In any case, it had been over a year since she had not been with her, and that last day plagued her as if it was only yesterday.
The mental shield that kept her from thinking was beginning to crumble with the door opened. A glow that had once emanated from the crack now engulfed the room in dancing firelight, the sudden light reflecting off of wide, doe eyes. The warm scent of cooking meat softly grabbed at her stomach, tempting with its soft tendrils to move towards it's source--but the stench of alcohol lingered. He had been drinking again. She shied away from the fiery light that shined upon her and the owner's voice as it called her name, sickly sweet, and she momentarily wondered if she could feign slumber. It then came to her that he would probably find her in a few seconds and "wake" her, anyway, so what was the point of pretending?
She peered out from where she ducked her head at when the day shut off into night again, staring at the shadowy figure outlined by the faint glow. "...I'm not hungry." She was not the best liar, but maybe if she sounded soft and if he was drunk enough, he wouldn't catch on. She knew this could only be a ruse; it was hard to tell when he drinks, but there was always a reason why he came to her. And it always usually ended the same. She learned this quick, and yet she would always be fooled by one thing: hope. The only thing more powerful than her fear was her hope, and it betrayed her almost every day. It was small--small enough to fit into an hand, easily crushed with the flick of the wrist. Yet, she coveted it still. It was the only thing she had left.
