𝐌𝐈𝐒𝐓𝐑𝐄𝐒𝐒 𝐎𝐅 𝐃𝐄𝐀𝐓𝐇.
─ a woman finds herself as the center of attention for men, and women alike, who'd do anything to be hers.
❝ the things you do to me... i'm going crazy. ❞
power!femoc , more details inside ,
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DEATH, WAS SOMETHING that scared every person, every soul, every being.
death had a very different definition according to different people.
for some people, it was a very painful and slow experience, for others, it felt like a painless sleep, one that you'd be taking forever.
but dare i say, it was all just a whole bunch of crappy, old, bullshit.
technically, how could you even describe the process of death, when you would be long gone, six feet in the ground, before you could explain it to humans or imbeciles? same word really, a human is a huge imbecile.
back to the topic at hand tho, our dearest death was something only the imbeciles who were in the process of dying, could explain it to us in a over-the-top manner!
common knowledge is not so common apparently.
but that imbecile currently, is the one and only, me.
dearest deary me, was laying on my death bed, well, the hospital bed really, waiting for it to all end.
to explain how i got here, let's go back some time.
i, athena eleanor scarlett, an only daughter to ellise scarlett, father still out there somewhere unknown after finding out my mother was pregnant, was born on the very first of november 2000.
from ever since i was born, i, very sadly, remember my childhood life being very clearly difficult, to say the least.
yes, you guessed it right, i have the same exact back story as some very sad child who's parents never appreciate them and they always have to do the most to even be noticed.
typical back story shit.
my lovely, lovely, single mother, always made sure i was the perfect golden child, even though she never even appreciated this golden child.
i learned to walk when i was one years old, and started to speak full, grammatically correct sentences at two. i was able to do this due to my mother hitting me on the knuckles of my hands until i pronounced a word correctly. my hands would get bloody by the time i would be done pronouncing a single word -with teary eyes and a blabbering mouth, mind you- and my mother would then scoff as usual, spew nonsense at me about how much of an incompetent fool i was, then leave me alone in my room as she went to have her evening drink.
her evening drinks would usually start around five or six o clock, and after crying and spitting foul words at god knows who or what, she would leave the house and then come back around ten at night.
at first when i was a toddler, she would even leave some microwavable food on the countertop for me to eat on my own, but when i reached my seventh birthday, she stopped cooking.
