CHAPTER TWENTY FIVE . 覆水盆に帰らず

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覆水盆に帰らず
no use crying over spilled milk

❝ 覆水盆に帰らず ❞no use crying over spilled milk

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"MAY THE GODS PROTECT YOU

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"MAY THE GODS PROTECT YOU."

A HAUNTINGLY FAMILIAR voice made its way into your consciousness as you opened your eyes to see a shadowy figure leaning over you. Whispered prayers and hushed mantras grew in intensity as you began waking from your daze, feeling an invisible weight rest upon your chest - forcing you to lay in stillness.

"It's okay," the voice said in a murmur. Whether its words and intentions were meant for you was wholly uncertain. What you were certain about was that this was a dream. A prolonged latent message that would only reveal itself to you when you had fallen asleep... And the owner of the voice, you realized, belonged to your adoptive mother.

'Mother...' You wished to acknowledge her efforts to no avail. You possessed no voice in this dreamscape, only silence accompanied your empty words. Falling entirely on deaf ears, your adoptive mother continued her prayers.

"I only ask for her to live a happy life unlike my own... For my child to be happy in her future marriage unlike my own."

"I wish I could've been a better mother to her..."

"I only wish I could have provided a happier home..."

You could do nothing except listen to the anguish of a dead woman, wailing as she laments all she wished she could have done for you in life. In death, she sang all the same requiems as before, lullabies and siren songs that only brought upon inexplicable heartaches.

Anguish was one of humanity's ugliest emotions. The sheer vulnerability and emotions it carves into an individual prove such faults are forever etched into their memories. Contortions of selfishness that beckon tears and sorrow to reflect one's own constitution, feeble and hapless in the face of an overwhelming reality. Such feelings of which one has no option other than to accept what is truth, a lack of embellishment for which is bitter. Tears of which are salty and truths of which are bitter; anguish is crushing in its methodology to acknowledge all that is unwanted.

𝐓𝐎 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐋𝐄𝐅𝐓 𝐎𝐅 𝐄𝐋𝐘𝐒𝐈𝐀𝐍 ↷ scaramouche x reader  Where stories live. Discover now