She is fairly good about it, most of the time. She smiles a lot, and she lives her life as fully as she can, whatever remnants of it she has. She has taken up the guitar again, and while it blisters her hands and makes her hurt, it is getting easier.
Her visions continue. She hates them, wants them so very desperately to stop, but somehow they don't. Bitterly, she thinks of how, when she needed them the most, they failed her, and now that she has no desire to entertain them, they flock to her. She despises them, and so she isolates herself, trying to hide, if not from the predictions, then at least from those that they would damage.
Because she knows. Cassandra Pharos knows. You'd think that she wouldn't, but she does. She is aware of how easily the things she sees could ruin lives, tear them into tiny little shreds, reduce them into meaninglessness, deconstruct them until they are nothing left.
She knows this for a fact, knows it in her head and in her heart and in her bones. Her life, her very existence, was one of those things that suffered the most, after all.
A/N: I really love the structure of this one, for some reason.
~Mademise Morte, January 20, 2012.