The lamuring lady, the sacrifical lamb and the woman who was in the newspapers, in large letters claiming to tell her story through art.
You are one of the members of the yellowjackets team, the number twenty three.
However, most people knew you lik...
CHAPTERSYNOPSIS— It's 2021, you try to take a grip of your life just like Lottie the past has taken a grip on your heart.
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2021
1, 2, 3, 4...
Your feet were aching.
You looked at yourself in the mirror, seeing you in a pretty leotard and flowy skirt, your ballet shoes leaking blood, staining your white tights like a sinner walking into heaven.
You were completely focused on the dance, watching every step with so much care that it was almost driving you into madness. You didn't even blink, and your eyes were already swollen because of the lack of lubrication.
The song was fast, making you spin and spin around, dizzy and almost fainting, but that's just how you always lived? on almost's.
Your concentration couldn't even be broken by the creatures showing up in the mirror. It was almost a copy of yourself, but with no face, a hair so long you couldn't see the end of it and always, always walking slowly, yet screaming louder and louder as she got farther and farther.
The lamuring lady — as you had used to call her (maybe thinking that naming something would give you power over it) — would drop thousands of teeth every time she opened her mouth to scream.
You got used to the sound, to her terrifying looks and behavior, however you could never look directly into her eyes.
They were the same as Lottie's — and it was long ago since you've seen it.
As you expected it (but hoped it didn't) everything changed after the rescue. Weirdly enough, you've felt more lost on your way back home than in the woods.
You never used the money. Perhaps it was a way to ensure a good future for yourself, to always have a big amount for emergencies or, perhaps, it was your way of hanging onto a piece of the past, of having a part of it to hold onto. Your fingernails were always bloody from the amount of strength you had to make to hold onto what you liked — so was your tongue, from how much you bit it.
5,6,7,8...
Your leg goes high, your bloody foot very close to your face, then you lower it, jumping in elegant hops around the rehearsal room.
You go to the left, count to three, to the other side, count to three, but when you put your leg to the side and spin, you count to two.
Once you finish it, breathing heavily, panting with your hip injury aching, you make the mistake of looking at the mirror.
Her eyes, Lottie's eyes, burn your skin and you discover a fifth heel —the one where you cannot look at those orbs eternally, the one you live.
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