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PROLOGUE LIVING DEAD GIRL
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Alone, she's concluded. That's exactly what Alaska is. It's a word that she's become far too familiar with. A word that'll either comfort her or haunt her. Running on nothing but sorrow— nothing but the deep ache in her chest, the tears on her cheeks, and the blood on her hands. All she knows is that she is entirely alone.
Maybe she should've seen this coming. She should've expected it. Once you're alone for so long, you make peace with that idea.
Alaska should've known.
She cries. She weeps. She bleeds.
Betrayal leaves a bitter taste on her tongue. Maybe she cries or fury. Or maybe she cries because she knows that she'll never fully regret what she did after that. Maybe she's a monster. Maybe she's exactly like her mother and only cries of relief at the sight of Sybil's struggle for air.
Alaska runs from it all. Perhaps both physically and mentally. This could be her chance to escape the life that was so constantly ridiculed and controlled. A life that had been shaped to be her own personal hell by her mother.
Alaska's feet hurt and her legs burn with each sudden movement. Her crystal clear tears blind her and her gasps for air cause stabs of pain. Yet, she runs.
She can't bare it anymore.
She can't bare the sight of Sybil's bloodied body, looking like a mutilated animal. She can't forget the way Sybil grabbed at her throat and begged for air moments before dropping dead. Nor can Alaska spend another second surrounded by the green forests she once held so dearly; for they had been the very place where Sybil had utterly betrayed her.
It was self defense, Alaska tries to convince herself. She hurt me, so I hurt her. Right?
Blood seeps through her ripped shirt, but Alaska can't get herself to look down at it. There's too much blood. Too much red. She doesn't think she could ever get used to that sight— not like Sybil was.
