I wake up, I get dressed, I eat, I go to a meeting, I kill, I wash, I sleep.
Every single day its always exactly the same.
I wake up, I get dressed, I eat, I go to a meeting, I kill, I wash, I sleep.
I find myself wishing for something, anything to change the never ending monotonous pattern.
Of course nothing does. Nothing ever does, its always the same, always exactly the same.
Waking up groggy because there's never enough hours in the night, never feeling rested.
Getting dressed into the same dilapidated clothes, ragged edges and tight corsets, rips and wrinkles and bloodstains. Never feeling pretty, never looking nice.
Food that tastes like ash in my mouth, it is wasted on my bitter tongue, food already tastes ruined in my mouth.
The meeting spent in silence staring at a man I barely know but inexplicably love, more than anything on earth.
Firing curses out of my wand to be met by screams and death, blood and gore and the things most people only have terrible nightmares about. People have terrible nightmares about me.
Scrubbing blood off my arms, off my hands, it always got stuck under my nails, in the seams of my boots, in the corners of my mind.
Nights filled with nightmares, a shadow version of myself, wand drawn and cackling insanely as me, the real me cowers, scared, a child again.
I wake up, I get dressed, I eat, I go to a meeting, I kill, I wash, I sleep.
But who wants to be stuck in a life like that?
In a routine as dull and repetitive and horrific and frightening and mind numbingly painful as that?
No-one wants to be. But I am, I always have been, and I always will be.