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HER HANDS WRAPPED AROUND THE handle of the gun. A cigarette hung from her lips, a line of smoke rising up into the air. She stood in front of a mirror, staring at herself as she pointed the gun. She looked like a widow who just shot her husband dead. Her night gown's straps hung off her shoulders, her hair was messy and her makeup was smudged. She was going through a lot to say the least.

Her stance wasn't the best, her posture was too tense and her hands gripped the gun in an uncomfortable fashion. She wasn't familiar with the mindset one should have when handling a weapon and she didn't want to. However, the world was growing more and more dangerous by the hour. Not only within her own life but everywhere else as well. There was war, hurt, sadness. All were things that disrupted the peace and beauty of the world.

She tilted her head, blowing out the smoke she inhaled and huffed. In all honesty, she looked hilariously pathetic. She couldn't believe the sight of herself. It was ridiculous.  She ran her fingers through her knotted hair, attempting to pull apart the mess that laid atop her head.

"You look like a fucking mess." A familiar voice called out to her. She turned her head, staring at the wall where her best friend stood. Esther didn't look any better than she had but the woman looked way better than Angelina by a long shot. Esther was wrapped up in a long coat that hid the fact that the fucking drugs she was inhaling every minute was making her thin out, her body turning into bones. Angelina and Esther didn't see eye to eye recently, that was true but they tried their best to remind each other that they were destroying themselves. Well, they would be able to do it in the times when they were civil with one another.

Angelina shrugged, pulling the thin cigarette from her lips. She rounded around a chair that held her oldest, favorite coat. She pulled it over her shoulders, doing the same as her best friend, hiding herself behind the thick coat from judgmental eyes. "I wouldn't be talking, Esther."

Esther rolled her eyes, pushing herself off the wall, heading further into the bedroom. It held the stale scent of books, tobacco, and lavender. There was an unspoken truce between them when Angelina came back from her reunion with her cousins. Esther was aware of the strain her cousins put on her.

Their expectations were too grand, unconventional to most but it was expected that Angelina met them. They were blood, bound by their shared ancestry, ideologies, and wealth. That supposed to be the idea but what old man Belmont laid down was tainted by the greed and inability to bond of his children that was then passed along to the next generation. It was a fine moral code that was tainted by those who came along after him, tearing his creation down to the ground.

Each of the Belmont Three were attempting in their own way to restore their family name but there was no time, everything was speeding past them and eventually their kingdom would fall to the ground and men like Thomas Shelby would be there to stand upon their graves as a king.

Angelina wasn't aware of this. She was blinded by love. She was too stupid to realize she was in love as well. And that man... Well, he was going to tear her down even more than before until she was no longer a shell of herself but a pile of dust underneath his feet. Esther tried, she truly did try to cut him away from her but Angelina never listened. The only person she listened to was dead, six feet under, decomposing into nothingness.

She supposed that wasn't entirely true. Christopher Francis was someone who could reign in the woman but he was gone. Quite frankly, she wasn't sure if that man would ever come back to Angelina. He was similar to all of the rich people she came across, selfish. Searching for a sense of personal fulfillment while life passed them by and they wonder where everyone is when their run in life is up and its just them. Angelina would be the only fool waiting for him when he falls from the top.

𝐀𝐍𝐆𝐄𝐋,   𝐬𝐡𝐞𝐥𝐛𝐲.Where stories live. Discover now