A/N - I'm not dead! I've loved these books for years now and figured it's high time I write something about it.
Disclaimer: I own nothing but the keyboard and mouse I'm typing this with.
She hates sneaking around in the dark like a criminal.
She hates this sick parody of affection - hiding in unused corridors in search for something, anything, to anchor her down to the ground again.
She hates that the one she finds in those shadows features are dark and deep like the sea at night instead the golden gleam of the sun at daytime.
She hates that her "love" is so busy taking care of everyone else that he doesn't seem to remember she exists, despite his frequent assurances of his love for her; hates that he so oblivious as to never catch on as to what goes on beneath his hawk-like nose.
She hates that her blue-eyed boy is so seemingly grown-up, but is still full of childish naivety, as to believe that this thing is real love - the type in the stories he's been told.
She hates the nauseatingly proud look on her "sister's" face when she sneaks back into their rooms every morning.
She hates that the others are so wrapped up in themselves - so wrapped in their own grief, lives, loves - that they can't hear what's left of her heart screaming out a bitter swan song.
She hates the ghosts of those dear and gone eyes' looking down on her, in more ways than one.
But what she hates most of all is that she still can't feel a thing.