shattered | f.w, d.m

prologue

Keziah's mind was jammed with too many thoughts.

None of them were good thoughts or reassuring ones. Not one fucking thought was calming the anxiety drumming in her ears.

She didn't understand what was going on. She replayed the last week over and over and over again in her mind. And she didn't see anything out of order.

Where had she gone wrong?

She asked herself countless times if she missed something or did something incorrect. But that wasn't her.

She never messed up a well-constructed plan. Especially not this one.

She couldn't mess up even if she wanted to because if she did, her life would basically have been over. Not that she had anything to live for, but still.

The unfamiliar feeling of anxiety first started when she was seated at her table and saw as he strode into the Great Hall.

Sharp chin was held high. Sensuous lips played in his usual lazy smirk. Broad shoulders were squared. Posture was phenomenal. Grey eyes observed the room. Platinum hair brushed sexily back with the usual single lock dangling over his brow bone.

That was when Keziah felt the anxiety. A feeling she had no recollection or familiarity with.

She had rubbed her eyes and screwed them shut for a really long time. She'd hoped when she opened them, the nightmare would leave.

The platinum-headed boy would disappear.

But he didn't. And neither did the horrid nightmare.

The entire week tormented her. No sleep. No eating. No drinking. Just pounds and pounds of panic and anxiety.

Besides those feelings, she was still observant. Always was. And she finally noticed it.

It took her a few days to finally notice it, thanks to the fact that her mind was hazy and weary and throbbing all at once.

But she noticed it.

The platinum-haired boy did not have a scar on the left side of his head.

He didn't have a scar that was the aftermath left from the shattered vase she killed him with.