My intrepetations on Dahlia. Inspired by kink meme prompt. I have no rights to anything in the story.
"Let's say that airplane there is a shooting star; what would you wish?" A little Iris asked her sister in a voice dripping with honey – not even intentionally.
"I'd wish you'd get lost," The redheaded twin answered in the exact opposite tone of her sister's.
Sitting there on the roof, Dahlia's mind overflowed with memories and her eyes overflowed with tears. She regretted. Of all the people she had hurt, she couldn't even see how she had harmed her own flesh and blood. And now, Iris had been the price she paid. Their revenge plan wasn't aimed at her but at those around her, and it was working damned well. First Terry, and now her own twin.
"Why can't they understand it's just a pretense," The woman whispered, tears resounding in her voice.
There was no-one who knew, no-one except for her that she was just layer after layer of lies. Those lies that had buried her own persona, those lies that she couldn't escape anymore. Because there was no Dahlia. There were only the molds which others had tried to fit her in. And she could do without them.
She stood up and walked. And kept walking. And walking. Until she fell. And fell. And fell. And fell.
"There are no shooting stars tonight."
