"𝘐 𝘥𝘪𝘥𝘯'𝘵 𝘮𝘦𝘢𝘯 𝘵𝘰 𝘤𝘢𝘳𝘷𝘦 𝘢 𝘱𝘢𝘵𝘩 𝘰𝘧 𝘧𝘪𝘳𝘦... 𝘣𝘦𝘤𝘰𝘮𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘴𝘰𝘮𝘦𝘰𝘯𝘦'𝘴 𝘴𝘰𝘶𝘭 𝘳𝘶𝘪𝘯."
Novalie Bishop has mastered survival, forever escaping from a violent past that haunts her. With no other choice, she accept...
She's crawling out the depths of hell to finally update, please forgive this treason of a long wait.
Life gets in the way and every time I sit to write I'm just like:
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̶«̶ ̶̶̶ ̶ ̶ ̶̶̶ ̶«̶ ̶̶̶ ̶ ̶»̶ ̶̶̶ ̶ ̶ ̶̶̶ ̶»̶ ̶̶̶
Benedict was the unlucky victim of my impromptu lunch up-chuck. Surprisingly, he didn't appear disgusted, just politely calling for someone on staff to bring a mop.
Ender's fretting from earlier seemed to intensify as he held me in a death grip. I caught his strangely distraught eyes, which were darting around for a solution, before turning towards the new arrivals.
Connie resembled a wet cat, one ready to hiss and scratch at whoever got too close. Lyric on the other hand had an uncanny resemblance to a golden retriever who just returned from fetching a ball.
"Sorry to interrupt." My contract slammed the door and almost caught Lyric's hand as it roughly shut, brushing snow from his pants in aggravation.
The nightingale's teeth chattered as he rubbed chilled arms for aided friction, snowflakes sticking into his damp hair and recreating a picture-perfect scene—if only he didn't have a pained face and chapped lips that were turning blue. He then looked where Connie was cleaning off and snickered, earning him a sharp reprimand from the other without them turning back.
"Shut up."
"It's not my fault you slipped on ice, right on your ass."
Before the unicorn could respond, Leon's presence made itself known as he went over to mutter something quietly. None of the conversation was heard as my senses deteriorated, and I could do nothing but hope the terrible sensations went away by their own.
"Novalie, lie down before you faint on your floor-vomit." Large hands took hold of my waist.
I could only nod as Ender tried to support me, feeling my windpipe swell even more as I tried to breathe in through a scratchy mouth, which was arguably hard to do when blocked. The shortness of breath worsened and nothing could be done as I abruptly collapsed on a hard chest.
I watched as Novalie dropped like a stiff board onto an alarmed Ender Mishal, and would have laughed at the other boy's uncharacteristic expression of alarm, if not for the reason. The amount of colourful words that floated inside her head before she fainted made me smirk, noticing that even while compromised, the spitfire had crisp thoughts.
