lies.
lies lieslieslies lies.
She can feel them in her mind, in her chest, in her fingers, in her throat. Clawing, clawing, clawing their way through the sedimentary layers of lies past to reach the truth and ravage it, maul it, kill it, and so thoroughly consume it so that the truth is lost and the lies, in fact, become truth (even if they can't because lies are really all they are.)
but there is no truth.
In that hollow in her being where the lies should crack apart to reveal what they were covering up, there should be some ultimatum for the future, what was ingrained into history, what she should be feeling and should be doing.
but they all knew that they were just living lies
Black cloaks and fake purposes all around like white on this godforsaken castle.
because for a Nobody, there is no truth
She only wished that her colors could tell the truth, that they could be the one thing that stood apart from the monotony of lies, lies, lies.
but, just like everything she felt and did and was
Yet, she knew better than anyone else.
they were really only lies in the end
just. like. everything. else.
