Natasha's p.o.v
Never going to be the same again, a miscarriage of hope and trust. My false pretense, ever clear and present uncertainty. A miscarriage of hope and trust, nevertheless biting the dust. Nevertheless becoming ashes, echoes of our past history and future, a dark twisted fairytale story. Ready to go kaboom at anytime, your vision is distorted. The Grandfather Paradox, your mysterious blackbox that I can't reopen. Love hanging and bleeding on a wooden cross, even now it takes my breath away.