"Love is slippin' and fallin'
Love is killin' your darlin'
That fearless thrill returns once the pain subsides
Can't hear what you say
I'm happy with this pain
You pity me, but I pity you more for pitying me
We are the lovesick girls"❣︎
A ʟᴏᴠᴇ sᴛᴏʀʏ...
Bold= speaking in french because I cant speak french I #faileditinschool
Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
✍︎︎
Disgust.
That's what she felt when she looked in the mirror, seeing her body littered with scars and carvings that her parents had given her over the years. Some faded white and some a visible pink, the deeper the cut the more vibrant the shade. The darkest ones were on her stomach from where her father and mother used to embed their sharp ringed fingers into her with feisty punches. She ofcourse tried not to show any pain towards the actions, maybe a hiss or a yelp but she had learned to tolerate the pain over time.
The beatings got worse when her brother left, there was no one there to protect her anymore. No shield to save her. She had to endure it on her own.
Her scars proved how weak she truly was, how she let them treat her. Miss 'I will break your nose if you come anywhere the people I care about' couldn't even fight back against her own parents. Her father had been right. She was pathetic. How can she protect those who look up to her, when she can't even protect herself.
To everyone around her she seemed so full of herself, so confidence in her appearance. But even her best friend didn't know that deep down she couldn't stand the way she looked, she hated her body with a passion. She had never slept with anyone naked because of this, always keeping her clothes on with any fling she had, no one had ever seen her bare and she didn't think she would ever let anyone see her like that. She couldn't look at herself bare in a mirror, her scars being a haunting reminder of how weak she was. She told herself she didn't care but she knew she did and the longer she kept denying it, the harsher it took to her mind. One day she was going to break and it wasn't going to be pretty.
Turning away from the mirror with a scoff she got herself dressed for the day, flitting around her personal dormitory, the room she was specially given as from the second she was sorted into Slytherins the ones who knew her and her family never stopped having a go at her, calling her a 'filthy blood traitor' and such. It was actually Snape that suggested getting her her own dormitory in third year but he said it was because he feared the girls anger towards his other Slytherins. Prick.
Grabbing her healed boots she slipped them on and laced them up before grabbing her bag and heading out towards the Hufflepuff common room. Waiting for Maximus so that they can go and get breakfast before potions class.
The slytherin entertained some first year girls as she waited for her best friend. Basking in their little compliments about how gorgeous she was and how they wished to grow as beautiful as her. You could say those little Hufflepuff girls brightened Rosalinds morning, the bad thoughts of herself being subsided for now.
