hello loves! I know, its been forever! ive been soooo busy, and I hope I can get to every fic I have sooner or later! but, I've decided to write a short one, so here we go
xoxoxox, maeson
PS - This fic does have suicide themes, so please, no hate.
...
Hush, little baby, don't you cry,
Damara was so done with Alternia. She hated it, she wanted to leave so badly. Every day, she woke up, feeling so weak and helpless, like a stranded puppy. She was just so fucking sick of everyone. They showed her no love, not even noticing her bloody wrists and bony stomach and thighs. She was so tired of being ignored. She wanted someone so badly to cradle her, to kiss her scars, to hug her close so that she could hear their heartbeat. She wanted someone to tell her not to cry and that everything will be alright. She knew no one would come to do that, for she was alone is a world full of demons.
Don't cut your wrists, don't say goodnight,
'You're such an attention seeker'
'You're only doing it to make someone like you.'
'What a wimpy lowblood you are!'
Damara was so sick of the other trolls treating her like crap. She was sick of Cronus, who was never there to kiss her scars or rock her to sleep. She was sick of Porrim, who would always find a sick and crewel name to call her every day. She was tried of all the shit they put her through. She was just so done with them. She woke up every morning knowing that she'd be called a bitch or worthless before the sun was actually up in the sky. She tried to hide her tears when she got home, so poor, innocent Araida didn't see her cry. The little girl had no idea what Damara was going through. She never caught sight of her bloody razors or many pill cases scattered around her hive.
Because in the morning, when you rise,
Damara sat back in a seat, slitting 11 cuts on her wrist, one for every friend she wished she had. Their names rolled through her head. Maroon blood dabbled onto her legs. She cringed at the stinging feeling. She bit her lip, digging the razor deeper and higher up on her arm. Tears streaked her eyes, remembering all the vague happy memories she had. When the Handmaid brought little wriggler Araida home. When Cronus said he had red feelings for her. When Porrim stopped calling her little kid names and decided to be friends with her. When...when...that was all there was. When Damara was 6 sweeps old, she lost it. Lost all of her sanity. Lost all connection of her friends. Lost it all. She stopped eating, started smoking, and cut. Now, at 8 sweeps, she knew she had to leave her life behind.
You will learn that it is all lies.
Damara woke, feeling lightweight. Where was she? Not at her hive, not anywhere near it. But...where? A soft, delicate hand touched her shoulder.
Aradia.
"Damara."
"Aradia..?"
"I cannot believe I'm seeing you again."
"But, how?!"
"Damara. I'm dead."
…..
Cronus knocked on the door to Damara's hive. One knock, two knocks, three. She didn't answer. He kicked down the door.
"Damara!" He yelled, running down the halls. No sign of her in the kitchen. The living space. Where was she…
Bedroom!
Cronus rushed into her room, a minute too late. Damara lay, in a pool of her own maroon blood.
"Damara?" He whispered. Magenta tears bubbled in his eyes, streaming down her face. He picked her up, cradling her face in his chest. Tears slipped onto her pale skin.
"D-D-Damara!" He screamed, shaking her, his body racking now.
"Damara...I love you." He whispered into her ear, kissing her lips, and laying her down on the floor.
"I'll always love you."
...