written for the ilvermorny forum pop a balloon challenge.

prompts:

[object] shattered glass

Word Count: 406

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"I am a Shotet. I am as sharp as broken glass, and just as fragile. I tell lies better than I tell truths. I see all of the galaxy and never catch a glimpse of it." ~Carve the Mark, by Veronica Roth

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She was shattered glass, a sharp, fragile blade that had been broken too many times, then brought back together through the fire of molten pain. She was a liar, a seer, a blade.

She spoke more lies than truths, bound by the ropes of a heritage she did not want. She wanted freedom, she wanted life. She wanted love, she wanted friends. She hated her mistakes. Herself. The way she was taught to be was not what she wanted to be, she wanted to go against her family, her blood, the foretold path set before her by fate and Divination and all she could not touch.

She wanted so much, of which she had so little. She had all she was supposed to want. Riches. Magic. Evil. Skill. She wanted love, life, freedom. She was bound by the wishes of those around her. Too many have felt this way, bound to be rich or poor or evil or good, bound to be smart or dumb or athletic or not. They are glared upon by the eyes of their ancestors, eyes that are telling them who to be, what to do.

They are never given what they want. Need.

She saw all that she could never have, and never had a touch of it.

She saw all that she had, and touched nothing but hatred.

For that was all there was down deep in her heart.

Hatred, burning, deep, fiery hatred, full of lies and full of love and hate and dying embers and roaring flames, the only thing keeping her alive.

Hatred for her blood, her lifeline, the tainted blood inside of her.

Hatred for herself, her mistakes, her friends.

Hatred for her betraying heart, sharp, broken, fragile like its owner.

She was glass, fragile, about to be shattered.

They tried to bend her, and she shattered into a million pieces.

They tried to mend her, but they only sharpened her edges, broke her even farther.

They made her truly as sharp as shattered glass, the edges bleeding with her tainted blood.

Shattered glass that held a black and darkened ash, remnants of fire that had once burned in a pane of beautiful glass.