✄ .・。.・゜✭・. our tainted history, is playing on repeat, but we could change it ━━━
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██ 002. / GENERATION UNAFRAID
█ ✄ ... / PAISLEY MUST HAVE visited the Tuft at least a dozen times already, and yet, every time it made her body feel weightless.
It was an entirely out of body experience, lulling her into the powerless paralysis of sleep, and though her mind had fallen into a complete standstill, her body found a way of moving entirely on its own. Indeed, the abandoned building always felt doused in some sort of haze, andshe was certain she could feel the phantom stares of lost souls breathing down her neck, like the place was brimming wall-to-wall with ghosts.
No, something had always guided her there, but it wasn't from any volition of her own... Somebody had guided her, even if she wasn't sure it was a good idea, because he had always believed in abandoning sensibility, if it meant doing what was right.
Perhaps he was the spirit she could feel tugging at her limbs, always finding some way to crawl underneath the very depths of her skin. She could feel him burning through her blood like a rush of adrenaline, slowly injecting fire into her veins. There were some days when the contact felt like a warm hug. Other days, she just felt strangled. But either way, his presence was always there, watching. Prodding away at her every move...
Paisley had never been particularly fond of ghosts.
The room had fallen dead silent after Paylor's introduction. So quiet, even, that Paisley's strained ears could just about make out every scrape of heel on the concrete floors. There had been a roar of ovation at first, the raucous teens showering their leader with appreciation, but the thunder soon died down. Now, the crowd simply stood there, eagerly awaiting in their state of awe-filled silence.
Emory Paylor was majestic — only nineteen, yet already a natural-born leader, with a strong and a mighty aura that made her glow like a god. Her body was malnourished, her dark skin charred with black soot from her factory hours, just like the rest of them — and yet, something about her seemed to exude power. Even those who did not know her, trusted her words beyond belief.
Hundreds of them had gathered to listen to her speak, all lumped together in the barren warehouse like sardines, but none of them seemed to mind. They had all risked their lives to be there — passing along secret messages, travelling after curfew, littering their skin — because the reason they had gathered was so much more important to them than their lives.
Looking around, Paisley didn't recognise them all, but that was no surprise either. They had come from all over, with those from the farthest towns having to cross practically the entire district to be there. Some of them had even come from over the bridge.
