Oh, luna dearest ━━ s.black

𝖛𝖎𝖎. go on, burn awhile

GO ON, BURN AWHILE

YOU ALREADY KNOW HOW THIS
WILL END

-MARELLA BARDOT COULD
NEVER say she had a boring life, that she hadn't truly lived, because she had. A certain set of people had shaped her present, then her future, and while they couldn't touch her past, couldn't wipe away the pain, the trauma, they could help her move on from it - and that she did, slowly. Marella didnt realise how much she'd been harming herself, not in the usual ways, but more divergently. She'd known all along, yet her mind had buried the truth under blame, under mediocre lies of 'fate' and the "universe'. She didnt want to admit it just yet.

Her anger was a form of self-harm, it wasnt some disease, some plague over her body, it was merely an excuse to lash out against her herself, because she knew the consequences would be bad, she wanted them. She felt she deserved them. She didnt.

So as she sat in the Headmaster's office, professors circling her with worried expressions upon their aged faces, Marella found herself unable to focus. Her attention based solely on the breaths which emitted her lips, 1..2..3, she counted, trying to escape tiredness. Instigating a fight close to the full-moon hadn't been a good idea, but then again, she still won - or at least assumed she had before being dragged away, ripped from the clutch of Severus Snape.

It didn't feel real, no not at all, more like some deluded fever-dream she had created, however from the staining liquid streaming down her face, to her contused knuckles, splattered violet, it was clear everything had happened. Sweat, blood, and tears clashed against her cheeks, meeting in the centre of her profile, and thus mixing together. Marella looked unruly, not the beautiful, romanticised type, the real kind. The one laced with fury, with anger, with uncontrollability - like a storm out of control, no longer blessed with alluring silver strands and soft rain, but murky grey strikes of violence...utterly terrifying.

"I'm sorry." she said through the silence, she was sorry for everything, however, she wasnt talking to the teachers, she was talking to herself. She was sorry for forcing herself into enduring years of abuse, of damage, of provoking the beast for fun, of putting herself last, of continuing to dig herself into trouble. Marella Bardot was sorry for the damage she had done to her own body, her own mind, she was her own worst enemy, that she knew now.