Rotten Shreds | Elijah Mikaelson

chapter four

tw: mentions and minor descriptions
of self killings and harm.

Full of rage    doesn't begin to amount     to my aggravating   grief.

Rotten Shreds.
Dreaded in my Hateful Gaze.

One day I had peered an ugly gaze at my mirrored reflection. I didn't like who I had seen; to the mourning person I had dreaded in becoming. I fell into the coma of grieving in a world that felt suffocating and rendering. And in a sight so silent, I cried out in blistering shouts.

It could easily be heard, even with the redefined structures in-between the walls, my echoing cry rippling through the darkening hues. A despairing, grey sky rumbling, tearing and splintering the watering clouds into two, beating the shredding and jutted drops as time continues to heal.

There was no time, far and wide in between, to cry in ways that I wanted. A deafening weakness that hadn't been visible in such a clear grasp. I hated my reflection. And I disdained the improper value of watching myself weep.

A pathetic fool. Such words as Kael refers to me as.

Reprimanded for the mourns of a weeping widow.

My free hand flew to my mouth, huffing and groaning into its folds and warmth. I tightly shut my eyes, barreling a graveling stain into my grip. I felt sick, jaw clenched and teeth baring and scraping against the others.

I never knew how to accept pain. A filthy emotion that hadn't been born until his death. I felt so forlorn. Every night rendering into the same mess; the tears of my wicked and exhausted haunts that couldn't seem to escape at any other moment.

Plant the brokenness of the royal death deeper inside the heart and splatter a brave face to the kingdom's people, it's what I had to tell myself as I glanced back in the mirror. What a pity that I hadn't disgraced myself upon.

Time hadn't seemed to be a healer, but instead, an over-bearer with shuddering willows. Scribbling in such disguise, I held the fateful act of appearing as an all-good do-all kind of woman.

In spite, I was not. Nor would I be within my heart staggering consequences. I mustn't portray myself as such fragility.

I bargained such a tragedy within myself. No one had dared to see this side of me; and no one must ever.

So flustered, anxious and painted as the ugly geese, I was unsettled by my own appearance. I was hatred and despair, disguised and fragmented into a woman of torment. I screamed painfully into the mirror.

I watched myself. No fear nor embarrassment.

I sat there, wreathing and thrusting my arm crazily against the chain. I batted a hideous and dire tear as the metal clung and tore through my flesh. I've always desired the fierceness that could be offered in pain. More so my wrist throttling and spazzing in flashing red, amplifying my sole focus on agony.