What is there to say about a broken girl who's life collapsed before her at the tender age of 15? A lot, but she would never admit to that, because the wall that protected her grew taller and taller with each passing day.
"ANOTHER BRICK IN THE WALL"...
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prologue word count- 1447
She sat chilled on the stone steps that lead up to the kitchen of Foxgloves. A cigarette was clutched between her fingers, a saddening smile etched into her now shallow features. She didn't feel light or joyful yet like an ever-weighing weight sunk onto her heart as the days passed her. The vineyard no longer held the beauty and grace as it did just months before, the tree were ridden of leaves that scattered around the lifeless grass and the sun no longer could escaped the dooming clouds that embedded it.
She had never felt so meaningless, her life had always been on the track of excellence but only now did she truly realise that she was as fucked up as the rest. She was set for the stars but as she took yet another drag on the cheap cigarettes she had found at the bottom of the chest that sat at the end of her bed. That she had sworn to forget about as she returned to another holiday. That her 'friend' had snuck into her bag since they thought the girl was being particularly uptight. She felt like nothing. No pain, numbness. She felt like every damp tear that rolled down her cheek once before would never return, she had none left. She felt as if life had no meaning anymore, that something that you cherished or loved or were so deeply indulged and devoted to could be swept away so easily so, what did life matter? Was life trying to convince yourself of happiness when really an impending doom always shadowed you?
Her dark circles and sunken cheeks would be noticeable to someone that cared. Her useless attempts of covering away the puffy eyes and tears with a drug store concealer was yet another attempt to hide away the pain and sorrow. Her smile no longer bright up the room, hardly visible, poking out on the occasion of a glint of happiness that she hardly ever felt, she was deathly silent since words no longer inspired her. Because her meaning, love, purpose, and happiness had sunk away as soon as the last spade of soil dropped onto the black grave that held her father.
He died on a night of loneliness. All alone in his study.
She regretted it every day, she wanted to be with him every day. Then, he died and she could no longer feel the sorrow of losing every chess game against him, or hear the words he read from books to plays and sonnets.
She was so alone.
She was so alone so she wondered if she would die like he did. Alone. Empty.
She wondered if it would be soon.
No.
She didn't want it to be soon.
He wouldn't want it to be soon.
And, she would do anything for him.
Her lips were chapped. They contrasted with the rest of her pale and white face. Smoke blew carefully out of them, an inhale, an exhale as she covered the lit cigarette from the August wind. August, he had died mere months ago and now, now she had to go back to Beuxbatons and pretend that her life hadn't changed, that she didn't feel like nothingness. Every year going back to Beuxbatons got easier and easier as the eleven-year-old girl that she had long forgotten never wanted to leave the gates of Foxgloves. It had been her home since the girl could waddle, she would swim in the stream in the north of the land during the scorching hours of summer, watching her mum sketching the landscapes. She would dance in the grand ballroom that the family hadn't used for over fifty years, all by herself or with her pa- who was a more traditional dancer than what her mum had taught her, the tango. Now, the girl found it the hardest to depart from the estate because it was the only piece of her family that she had left.
Julianne Floyd died before the girl turned ten. Cancer. She never understood how a disease could kill her mum, she found herself believing that mothers were the strongest people on earth, and surely, a witch-like Julianne Floyd could for-pass an illness? The couple didn't tell their daughter until her mum's beautiful blonde locks fell from her hairbrush one Sunday morning and, like the mature ten-year-old she was, she stayed calm and collected for the sake of her dear mum. She regrets it. She held in too many emotions during that god-forsaken time, she avoided her mum like the plague because she was so scared that the image that she had of her beautiful, strong, and powerful mummy would shatter into complete nothingness. She regrets that as well because when the time came that she went to visit her mum on her death bed, she didn't picture her as weak or feeble, but the same, beautiful, strong, and powerful mummy- and then she died.
A depression struck the family and how Florin Floyd tried to lore his daughter out of her room, to grieve properly- she refused. Thinking back on it, she regrets a lot from her childhood. She regretted refusing, she never accepted the death of her mum properly, she feels like she disgraces her memory. Florin knew of the thoughts, he would assure her that her mum loved her 'more than words could speak', she would never believe him. She supposed she stopped trusting after her mum's death because her mum promised her that she would never leave her side as she walked into the playground of her reception school.
When the girl finally went to Beuxbatons, she was sorted into the house of the Ombrelune. Florin wasn't surprised, though the man was a 'Hufflepuff through and through, he had seen the characteristics of his late wife's house since his daughter stated that she wanted to be a writer and nothing and no one would change her mind. Seemingly, as Florin thought would happen, the girl seemed to forget about the loneliness of not having a mother figure except from the old house-maid, Colette, and begin to form a second home in Beuxbatons. The girl had a decent group of friends, a Papillonlisse named Janice and two Bellefeuille's, Dayla and Beatrix- all of whom she had lost in the coming years. Every time she would weep into Florin's arms about the misfortune of losing yet another friend, Florin would say the same thing." You can't have it all, you win some, you lose someone- yet, remember sweet, you'll never lose me." She never thought of her dad as a liar.
"Papa! You'll make me sadder, the earth would shatter if I lose you." The product of two liars tells the truth. The earth was shattered because she lost him.
She tripped getting up, her ankle twisting, she felt little pain. She crushed the cigarette on the floor with the foot of the shoe, hoping for rain so Colette could find no evidence of the girl smoking. She wrapped her arms around her body, sniffing into her hoodie as her hand grasped around the brass handle of the glass door before pushing it open to be hit with the warm air that circulated the house. Colette was singing a joyful tune from upstairs and a weak smile formed on the girl's face as she realized the tune was one that Colette would sing to her as a child. Her mind was wobbling, she felt so unsure, she didn't have a plan, she always used to have a plan.
The singing from Colette stopped at the sound of a crash, a late response was given from the girl that bumped into the glass vase that sat on the counter. Colette came rushing towards her, her arms wrapping around the girl as she steered her away from the glass muttering profanities as she sat the girl down. " Are you bleeding? Sylvia?" Colette asked the unresponsive girl.
Sylvia frowned, a tear escaping her eye and falling blankly down her cheek." I can't feel anything."
a/n!
a smaller chapter, they will get longer.
i'm so glad that you beautiful person clicked on this book. i'm so thankful as well. i'm open to any constructive criticism, but please note that i will make so mistakes- i'm only human.
please comment insights and any thing you think about it, i'd love to know.
