[Dark Romance] [In the process of editing]
In a life of forbidden emotions a lady in disguise has to follow certain rules. Once they're broken - she is as good as dead.
To each rule she finds an exception that leads to a consequence of choosing bet...
It is a feeling of vengeance dominating one's sanity. The ability of demolishing those, who led one astray, right into the abyss of death. One by one. Droplet of blood by droplet.
I have been held captive and was obliged to fight for survival when I saw no sense in it. I have come to be the reason people bled to death. I walked on bones just to escape a state of being deceived. Don't get me wrong, I also ended up enjoying the most part of it. At least that's what my old-self alleged. . .
Despite vengeful nausea gripping the damaged muscles in my stomach, I was standing at the cemetery with remorse burning my eyes anon. The rain has been pouring for what seemed like hours. My shoes were soaked all the way through and covered in mud. A sob arose in my throat, as my eyes held the grave in my view. By the crack of the tree, ice trickled down my spine, daring warm fluids to stream out of my eyes. Indeed, to my disappointment, these were my bilious tears, which have been mixed with the liquid of clouds. If not quiet sobs, or were they loud? No one would have ever imagined Adrielle D'Angelo crying, as she was apparently unbreakable, cruel, and made of stone.
These were impudent observations of those who didn't know Adrielle but La Ombra – my public name, known merely by the elite. The matter was, I did not know who I had been all along - either both of them or none concurrently.
How pathetic...
Under the rain, I can suppress my tears of jaded futility; under the ground, I can hide the duplicitous person who caused them.
In loving memory, Vincent Primo De Vitto August 15, 1994 – July 15, 2020
As I was standing by his grave under the rain, a cold sweat filmed my body. I yearned desperately the rain would wash away the memories from the perpetual haunting past. I howled soundlessly for the mistake I had made a decade ago . . . oafishly too, as it's impossible to mend it.
The wound cut with a sword hurts just as much as with a knife. In the end it's the blade that does the damage.
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