flawless

first love/late spring.

tw; mentions of death, grief, and implied suicidal thoughts. reader discretion is advised.
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late may, age sixteen.

The five stages of grief are denial, anger, bargaining, depression, and acceptance. In that order, in that sequence, in that way. Just as death precedes it, grief is just as inevitable. It consumes you whole, demanding to be felt. You hated it. You hated how it made you feel – nothing yet everything all at once, like the great wave of a melancholic storm.

now playing... lights are on (instrumental) - edith whiskers

You walked alongside the trail of gravel and rocks, a pair of gray headphones glued onto your ears, a few strands of hair stuck in between. Your eyes were latched onto your pair of shoes, which felt like they were being dragged on their own. The truth is, nothing felt as if it was your own. It was a constant underlying feeling, a storm's current brewing within the deepest crevices of your heart, tracing down to your paled bones.

You were on your way home, marking the end of your first week at your new school, Shiganshina High. The differences to Sina Academy were very apparent, from the lack of uniforms to the abundance of people. Each class was a drag, though English was the most bearable.

You haven't made any friends, but it was expected for a student who transferred so late in the school year. Yet, when you walked around the halls, everyone noticed your presence. Not so subtle whispers, shameless stares, but never a wave. Or a smile. Well, except for the boy in your English class, the same boy you stumbled upon at the creek you discovered a few days ago. Jean, was it?

Yes, Jean Kirstein. The boy with the paintbrush and a pair of eyes that were always drawn to your every move.

You didn't take Jean's offer of hanging out with his group the next day; you weren't too sure as to why. The thought of it felt exhausting, and if they were anything like the people in the hallways, you would be weak by the end of it. He no longer asked, and he no longer spoke to you. He'd wave or smile some days when you reached your seat right next to him, but that was about it. You didn't blame him, your face was written with the desire of solitude all over it. It was better this way.

Plus, you'd hate to keep attachments – they always seemed to inevitably sever.

Your eyes were low and your lashes made for a sheer curtain as they wandered to the right, seeing how the grass slowly swept to the side alongside the petals on the stem of the season, spring.

The season of renewal. Of rain that cleared to reveal iridescent blue skies. Of trees finally earning their leaves after a harsh winter. Of birds finally returning to their homes. Of fruits being ripened and picked. Of flower petals welcoming bees with sweet nectar.

It was late spring, and you still found yourself with hatred in your heart for the season.

You hated the spring. How everything renewed, down to the last thread of petals, blooming once again. A constant cycle, did it ever feel grief? No, how could it – spring was inevitable.

How unfair.

It's been three years since she left this earth, leaving you with a vast void inside, your soul slowly falling into it. Your father seemed to have moved on – he was as entrepreneurial as ever. From moving you both to the rural Rose district to creating business partners overseas, Nile Dawk spent his days the only way he knew how – with distraction.

He hired gardeners, maids, and servants all over the enormous estate that was too big for a man and his sixteen-year-old daughter, hoping it somehow could help bring liveliness back into the home. But, the liveliness left two years ago, alongside your mother's corpse, heart, and soul. You two never talk about it out loud, but the presence is still there like a looming spirit waiting to be sought out. No one dared to seek it, no one dared to do anything. It stayed, and it made its room in this empty house.