I won't make the same mistakes you did. I won't let myself cause my heart so much misery.
Ginevra watched through amber eyes as he fell apart, ghosts from his past coming back to haunt him. She merely observed as his sunny days clouded over, believing that he could fix it—he always had. That was the power he held. She hadn't realized that he had become like the color of his skin, his hair—white as a sheet, and just as easily torn.
I will not break the way you did—you fell so hard. I learned the hard way to never let it get that far.
Ginevra ignored the accusatory fingers lurking in the shadows, oblivious to the fact they were pointing directly at him. Death sentences and broken promises that were never made.
I lost my way, and it wasn't long before you pointed out that I cannot cry because I know that's weakness in your eyes.
Ginevra loved the way he could walk into a room and cause complete silence—he had always been so strong, such a force to be reckoned with. He could always silence the rumors, relieve the doubts of the unbelievers, including her. But she hated the way he wasn't gentle, the way he didn't brush the tears away—he ripped them from her face, blood spatters on an impeccable white handkerchief.
I'm forced to fake a smile, a laugh, everyday of my life.
Ginevra realized itat the first social she had attended. It was May, sunny and bright and so pleasantly warm. The large, airy room had been full of elite ladies in pastel dresses with glass smiles—Ginevra could see right through them, knew they would break if you pushed hard enough. She wondered if they would choke on the shards, or if they'd swallow them whole, just like the lies they told one another. It was then she looked out the window, and realized that there wasn't a single dandelion, not a single speck of gold on green on the manor's grounds.
My heart can't possibly break, because it wasn't even whole to start with.
Ginevra tried to forget that it all began with his stormy-eyed son, the one who wore the color of night, the one who started the rumors that she had something to hide. That when people didn't talk, it meant that their secrets were too great to risk, so they kept everything to themselves. In the end, it was his heir that broke her heart—not him.
Because of you, I never stray too far from the sidewalk.
Ginevra always held her breath when she walked past people. It was more habit than anything, but she used it as a first line of defense against the lies, the whispers—if she didn't inhale it, embrace it, live and breathe it, maybe, just maybe, it didn't exist.
Because of you, I play on the safe side—so I don't get hurt.
Ginevra remembered the first time she ever felt afraid of him: when he told her the truth. That night, she had dreams of a pale-haired woman with ruby red blood, lying on the floor. Her eyes were blue, dark and vivid. Her hair was arranged around her as if she was a sort of unearthly entity, caught in the act of floating on a pillow of air. Ginevra watched as the ends of her hair caught on fire, curling like paper. It burned upwards, reaching her scalp, before smoldering out—and leaving the hair an auburn orange, burnt the color of an autumn sunset. He had ripped her soul for her, and she despised him for it.
Because of you, I find it hard to trust—not only me, but everyone around me.
Ginevra believed him when he said the world was an evil thing, created to destroy people from the inside out. She believed him when he said that she was beautiful, believed him when his lips pressed against hers. But she never for an instant believed that he loved her, never believed that the her fiery name would ever perfectly compliment his icy one.
I watched you die, I heard you cry every night in your sleep. I was so young, you should have known better than to lean on me. You never thought of anyone else; you just saw your pain—and now I cry in the middle of the night for the same damn things.
Ginevra hated him for taking her innocence, despised him for forcing her to be his marionette, because he was too skilled of a puppeteer for her to escape his tangled strings. She cried when he wasn't watching, because she knew that deep down, he was becoming unraveled. She dried her eyes when she realized what had to be done, and she stood straight and tall as he once had when she raised her shaking hand. Her mouth formed the words, and she watched him fall, his body curving and making a perfect arc as he fell, always graceful. She admired the green light she had made, such a stunning shade of beautiful emerald. She dabbed at her face as they buried him, drying imaginary tears.
A year passed, remarkably ordinary, and she lived her life mechanically. She visited his grace for the first time on the anniversary of his passing—kneeling on the frosted grass, the satisfying crunch as she settled her weight. She kissed the cold marble of his tombstone, brushing the dusting of snow from the top. It wasn't until then that the full burden of what she had done settled on her shoulders with a disturbing finality. She allowed the first teardrop to fall, then a second. She wished they freeze, stick to her cheeks. Maybe then everyone would see what she had done. But try as she may, regret would not come.
I am afraid.
My first Ginny/Lucius. Song is "Because Of You" by Kelly Clarkson. Oh, and please, if you plan on favoriting, please drop me a review prior. Thanks. (: