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it haunts her—taunts her—with every waking moment—to see his face on a stranger’s and know that she is mistaken. it is a cruel fate, but perhaps it is one she deserves. it is a punishment she has earned, because who was she to believe that peace was within grasp.[
so once more, she runs. the girl runs, runs, runs until she is far from the home she was offered. now, it is quiet, and time has melded once more.
it leaves her listless, it makes her itch—it is a drowning, aching sensation, all the while she is flailing her forelegs to swim to a surface that keeps rising. a mess of her own design, but she is drowning nonetheless.
now, water moves in ripples at her feet, pulling at the gravelled shore like it means to swallow it whole. half-sunken into silt, she feels the pull herself, and oh how she wishes. it is an old instinct, that want for oblivion, and it entices her to no end.
