philophobia-the fear of falling in love
or becoming emotionally connected
to someone...
~~~
This is a story you've heard before, passed down through generations, about a young girl and a young boy who utterly despise each other.
Then, somehow, t...
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lvii||the cottage on the hills
*mentions of sexual violence
Groggily letting her eyes open, Maria quickly squeezes them closed once again at the bright morning sun beginning to shine through the window of the unfamiliar room she's in. She runs her eyes and slowly sits up, her breathing heavy yet quiet as she looks at the ceiling for a few seconds, feeling a stinging pain between her legs before shaking her head as tears well, memories from the previous night flooding back to her and three of her tears roll down her cheek.
She perfectly remembers some parts, like being dragged up some fancy looking stairs by her upper arm. Other parts are blurred, she kind of remembers being injected with something, maybe drugs, and seeing blurred figures over her. She remembers feeling hands on her body, she remembers the blurry outline of a man before he'd stripped her of any pride she had.
She remembers very well screaming at the top of her lungs and trying to kick the man off of her but he was stronger than her.
Letting out a strangled sob, Maria rolls onto her side, curling her knees up to her chest and burying her face in the bend of her arm. Hands shaking, she slowly sits up and gently lets her feet touch the cool, wooden floor of the room. It's dark, decorated with blacks and very dark blues. The bedsheets look expensive and there's a large window making her release a shaky breath.
Trying not to step on creaking floor boards, Maria walks to the door and slowly twists the handle, successfully opening it with a relieved sigh. She realises she's not in the flared jeans and and woolly jumper anymore, but a rather short nightdress. She also notices bruises all over her legs and arms, shaking her head slightly and slowly walking into the dark hallway.
Checking around corners, she finally makes it to a large staircase and remembers being yanked up it whilst she yelled hoarsely for somebody to please help. The Potter slowly walks down the steps and is almost at the large door when someone grabs her shoulders if she shoves off making them both fall to the ground.
Screaming, she kicks her legs as he grabs her ankles, trying to drag her towards him but she kicks him in the nose and scrambled to her feet, sprinting with the energy she has left out of the door and not looking back until she's out of the tall, metal gates of the driveway.
Letting out a pained cry, the adrenaline to get away fading and the agony on her feet builds, seeing as she's sprinted across a drive with bare feet they're now bloody and have tiny stones in them. Collapsing into the ground, she begins to cry. Not because of the pain in her feet or the banging headache that she's developing. She thinks, how on this earth could anyone do that to somebody else?
Looking up at the iron gates she furrows her eyebrows, seeing a particular crest on the brick beside each hinge of the gates.
