BRAXTON, wren eglantine

[wren]

WREN EGLANTINE BRAXTON

WELCOME TO HOGWARTS

WHERE ALL THE MAGIC HAPPENS

NAME;; Wren Eglantine Braxton
NICKNAME;; She detests petnames.
AGE;; Seventeen
BIRTHDATE;; September 14th
GENDER;; Female
BLOOD;; Although the Braxton family has continuously claimed their lineage is entirely Pure, there are many discrepancies that have gone unacknowledged concerning halfbloods throughout their several generations.
ORIENTATION;; Heterosexual
YEAR;; Seventh
HOUSE;; Slytherin
WAND;; Black Chestnut, 11", Demiguise Hair
PETS;; Grey Owl named Thelonious

IS GONNA BE TOTALLY AWESOME

WHEN WE USE THE FLOO NETWORK

LIKES;;

— causing chaos
— mindfucking with others
— intelligent conversation
— pointless debates
— dark chocolate and wine
— expensive clothing
— luxury and grandeur
— being lavished with attention
— a sense of accomplishment
— assertive older men
— rough foreplay
— most pureblooded ideals
— being in a position of authority
— catching others off-guard
— spending time with her mother
— foriegn cultures and language
— having a set goal or direction

DISLIKES;;

— anything dull and dreary
— being interrupted
— being ignored
— ignorance and stupidity
— chauvanistic attitudes
— feeling lost or misinformed
— flaw and vulnerability
— hypocrites, despite being one
— losing or admitting defeat
— rejection
— demure and gentle affection
— her father and brother
— feeling constrained
— when others see her cry
— when ink blots on parchment
— chocolate frogs and blood pops
— the word 'no'

STRENGTHS;; Intelligent, resourceful, passionate, resilient and mature.
WEAKNESSES;; Vain, manipulative, unpredictable, unforgiving and haughty.
GOALS;; To do something memorable with her life, separate her parents and destroy her father's social reputation.
ERISED;; Living a happy, content life in Italy with the knowledge her mother is well taken care of.
BOGGART;; Takes the form of a dark, faceless man. All that can be seen of him is a malicious grin. She speculates it is the representation of her father. Also fears small enclosed spaces, vulnerability, her mother's fragile state and death.
PATRONUS;; Takes the form of a songbird. When she and her mother took a summer trip to Rome. It was the first time they were able to spend quality time together without having to be 'supervised'. It was also before her mother became completely subservient to her husband.
DEMENTOR;; When she first witnessed her father's affair in their home. At that time she had been locked in a closet which ultimately contributed to her claustraphobia and her mother's well-being was threatened. This was the point she realized she loathed her father.

OVERALL PERSONALITY;; Ambition. It was a word that had been ingrained upon her mind since before she could walk. Trained, conditioned and instructed in a relentless fashion to strive towards a greater standard; anyone unfamiliar with the tyrannical lifestyle directed by the ideals of Pureblooded society would never understand. but that simple terminology, to her, rings of such insulting insignificance in comparison to how ‘ambition’ has truly shaped her life. Conducting her behaviour to suit aristocratic protocol meant that there was no room for fault and inevitably taught her to push herself further and harder than necessary. often she’ll wonder whether such resolve is to be admired or pitied. after all, when had she ever had time for something other than duty and responsibility? she’d even neglected her own mother – the one person who most needed her daughter’s support – to fulfill the predetermined future her ancestors had laid out for her … to prove that she could surpass the example they’d set down and reach beyond just any expectation. that was the mindset by which she lived for several years, before certain events eventually forced her to question who she was worBraxton so hard for. had it truly all been for herself? Had it made her happy to toil so remorselessly without really knowing why? but now she’s quite aware of whom it had been for and all of the values she’d learned to respect have shattered. no longer does she comfort herself with the reassurance that she could someday make her father happy. Instead she fights for the freedom that had been snatched mercilessly from beneath her yearning fingertips, and for her mother’s will to live the life she should have before ever agreeing to marry Sebastian Braxton. She retains that same drive that has become second nature to her of course, but her purpose has changed.

Indeed, since Wren was a young girl she can remember having a definite opinion where most anything was concerned. even as a young woman she has proven on countless occasions that her theories are both bountiful and unhampered by politeness or uncertainty. Direct in the way that she speaks and admirably calm in her composure, Wren makes an understandably intimidating conversationalist. With a tendency to employ eloquent description simply for complexity’s sake, and unable to keep from questioning the opinions of others, speaBraxton with her can prove to be more of a chore or tribulation than a casual pleasure. it certainly doesn’t help that she finds someone else’s discomfort amusing and draws attention to their weaknesses as though to provoke a reaction. it was something her father used to do whenever they spoke, expecting her to provide answers in a formal, informative manner that would leave her invulnerable to potential verbal attacks. Despite harbouring the confidence one needs to be an effective public speaker, he always managed to somehow find a loophole in her form of presentation and had no trouble berating her for it. she doubts she’d ever managed to impress him but has found his gruelling exercises a helpful tool in concealing her hidden agenda, while at the same time drawing her audience in with said social prowess. Polished, refined and as well-bred as a well bred socialite is expected to be, Wren emits the practiced self-assurance that comes with being in a position of some influence.

Wren was never meant to become the complacent, dispirited trophy wife. She realized that the moment she first witnessed her father laying a hand against his doting wife. She supposed it was also what sparked the fierce feminist in her she’d never before known existed. With a sense of guilt she is constantly scolding the repulsive behaviour of men and avoiding personal relationships of her own, perhaps in an effort to make up for the fact that she was unable to protect her mother from Sebastian’s violent temper. She supposes it also has something to do with feeling as though the abuse Melania suffered was of her doing. Unable to look past the sins of her father that she still sees in the eyes of her short-term flings, Wren cannot bring herself to genuinely love or feel at all attached to her lovers. however this does not bother her as much as one might initially assume. on the contrary, she often feels empowered by her ability to keep such tedious, superficial things as relationships at the back of her mind so that she may focus entirely on the matter of supporting herself and her mother, as well as securing a job for the ministry– a lifelong dream of hers – so that she might come to prove exactly how capable she really is. that she is able to fend for herself without her father’s assistance … that she doesn’t need to rely on anyone but herself. it’s something she wished melanin had realized. perhaps that way she would have avoided succumbing to the demands of a man that used her as nothing more than a bargaining chip.

Despite being a naturally level-headed, charismatic young woman there are certain vices that allude to her severe upbringing and the precarious relationship with her father. Her intolerance for imperfection could be the most innocent. due to the strict environment she’d been raised in, there had been no room for mistakes. flawlessness was akin to law and although she found this ironic when comparing it to her family’s taste for scheming against some of the most prominent individuals of London, she continued – and continues to this day – to obey and abide by it. Failure, whether on her part or someone else’s is unforgivable in her eyes. it is why she has come to rely solely on herself to get the job done right and to her satisfaction. She has also become a rather judgmental person, much to the dismay of her mother. upon introducing herself to someone for the first time, she watches them with a critical eye and can usually decide whether they or competent, incompetent, trustworthy or otherwise within a matter of moments. Sometimes her appraisals are accurate, other times not. But she always seems at ease with her own predictions. Because she doesn’t have very much faith in people, Wren is frequently brash and unfriendly to strangers. this is also why she can’t call many ‘true’ friends or confidants. in fact she would be able to count the number of those she trusts explicitly on one hand.

As an assertive woman, many find her to be quite obnoxious and arrogant. They would be right. she has placed herself on a pedestal and looks down on the general public unfavourably. Content in looBraxton after her needs and well-being alone, Wren does not concern herself with the predicaments of others unless she sees that it will become a burden for her in the future. Selfish as well as vain, the young woman expects to be handed whatever it is she asks for as promptly as possible without question and finds her mood perks when she is surrounded by luxury. Considering it to be a major contribution to a successful first impression, Wren also makes it a habit to look in a mirror on average about six times a day. in fact it is the first thing she does after the night has passed though there is hardly ever a moment when a single strand of hair is out of place. it would be an understatement to say that she is easily offended when something negative or apathetic is said about her dress or physical presentation. it is just another demonstration of how everything about her must edge towards the ideal. She is extremely easy to disappoint, which – considering the above – should not be hard to believe. Not only does she set unrealistic expectations for herself, but also for others around her, especially those with whom she knows personally. Her temper is not easily provoked but when it is, by a personal letdown or otherwise, it is explosive. When angry she will involve any persons in the vicinity whether they have something to do with it or not and will place the blame on whomever she can in an effort to lessen the sense of defeat and loss.

Her possessions are very dear to her, and touching them would be a grave mistake. Disorder irks her and when it comes to her things, they are set up in a very specific manner. Organization is a skill she thinks everyone must look at as priority and takes impressive pride in her own such capability. When she is in an environment that is messy and cramped, she becomes agitated and uncomfortable, almost suffocated and experiencing the same distress someone diagnosed with claustrophobia would while forced into a tight, airless space. that is another one of her quirks, namely, having her personal bubble invaded without permission. she does not like it when someone touches her unexpectedly, most notably around the face or neck, and will tell them off immediately and without remorse for doing so. She does not give second warnings and does not believe in the three-strikes-you’re-out deal. if you make the same mistake twice, in her mind it is apparent that you are either being purposely defiant disrespectful, or you are simply too ignorant and stupid for a chance at possible friendship. the same sort of ideology applies to her enemies; she will never be able to forgive and forget something as disreputable as harming – verbally or physically – herself or those she has come to care for.

In the end there is nothing that Wren thinks is out of reach or beyond her capability of achieving. Having learned that she can have whatever it is she puts her mind towards attaining; there are no restrictions or boundaries she has to remain wary of. Passionate and assertive to an almost dangerous degree, getting in her way would indeed prove to be a grave mistake. she never lets her guard down and though there is a tender secret that could possibly prove to be her mortal weakness, she conceals it well … having promised to herself and her mother that no one will ever be able to damage her pride again. Certainly not without a fight.

SOMETHING VERY WICKED

THIS WAY COMES LOVE

PLAY BY;; Adriana Lima
EYES;; Blue
HAIR;; Dark Brown
HEIGHT;; 5'6"
WEIGHT 128 lbs.
MARKINGS;; A beauty mark upon the outside corner of her left eye.

OVERALL DESCRIPTION;; There are very few things in such a broken world that one might deem ‘beautiful’. In fact, there seems to exist nothing of the sort amongst the rubble and ruin that lay haphazardly in all directions. Waste – all of it – for miles it lays in all of its deformity, and so if there had been anything sublime to speak of; it was tarnished by the ugliness of the war-torn city. Wren, the name that ironically bears the recognition of ‘fair of face’ personifies instead the intense darkness of the home that has since collapsed around her. It was as though she were purposely sculpted to reflect the disaster and bleakness that now wholly consumed a place that had been so full of vivid colour and resilient spirit. One notable difference that separates these similarities however, is the fact that – for all of her gravity, there is no bleakness to speak of. In fact, the most appropriate way to describe her striBraxton countenance would be to say that she bears quite a great deal of volume. A horrific refinement so utterly arresting that simply looBraxton upon her is a beautiful agony.

With a heritage as rich as the Braxton’s, it came as a surprise – albeit not an unpleasant one – that Wren had inherited none of the stereotypical features associated with any aspect of either of her ethnicities. Instead she conveys something of a roman-esque profile, limbs abnormally long and thin; comparable to delicate bone-china liable to shatter into a hundred pieces upon the gentlest of persuasions. Her height, although it adds an air of superiority and regality, has lessened the evidence of feminine curves and steep dips commonly related to young girls her age. Unfortunately this also includes the coveted supple breasts that stand as a prevalent and sought after feature, standing as something of a landmark of womanhood. Despite her boyish figure however, it would be quiet a feat to deny that she has an enviable grace about her. Rhythmical in the way she moves and elegant in every sense of the word, Wren carries herself in a fashion reminiscent of a queen amongst her humble subjects. Subtle gestures such as the lift of her chin and the perfected frown upon her lips are expressed artistically to demonstrate as much, expressed almost artistically across the haunted pallor of her sharp, dramatic features.

Perhaps her most startling feature, the colour of Wren’s eyes stand as a metallic inky blue-green so dark it appears black at a distance, echoing the hue of the center of brittle sapphires dug from the deepest crevices the moist underground. Fringed in long, almost ornamental lashes which break like a wave across her cheek, and startling against the ashen colour of her skin, they carry the weight of her emotions within their mysterious depths. Many people have remarked that her slender nose and rosebud lips resemble that of a porcelain doll’s, eerily flawless in their placement and never giving anything away; such small details are all excruciatingly symmetrical so that staring at her for too long may cause one to wonder whether she’s alive or simply a life-size statue of alabaster and ivory. Sunken, shadowed contours, exquisite bone structure, high sweeping cheekbones and a pointed jaw do well to reflect the aristocracy coursing through her veins, rarely painted or made up in anything more than lotion and a dab of perfume.

It should also be noted, there is no uncanny resemblance to her parents, much to their dismay, save for the swirl of glossy raven curls which spill unbound over her small, sloping shoulders. It was the same blackness of her mother and grandmother’s hair before her, groomed with great care and left long and always loose, it stands as the only source of femininity about her person, occasionally dressed up in ribbons and ceramic combs.

Overall, roguish, intense, dark and mysterious are all attributes that would fittingly describe this peculiarity of the Braxton lineage. Yet for all of her outward flaws there is a commanding aura that surrounds her, beckoning for one to venture closer and take a better look. Not all is what it seems after all, and though her features are much too hard and foreboding to be compared to the softness of her siblings’, there is no doubt that she possesses an eloquence left forgotten and underappreciated.

IS THE SAME OLD STORY

WHITH A COMPLETELY DIFFERENT ENDING

PARENTS;; Sebastian Braxton, 49 - Ministry Employee for the Wizengamot Council of Magical Law and Melania Braxton, 39 - Housewife.
SIBLINGS;; Gregory Braxton - Slytherin
CHILDREN(?);; None at this time.
FRIENDS;; The majority of Slytherin students.
ENEMIES;; Most anyone else.
PERSON OF IMPORTANCE;; The most influential and important person in Wren's life is her mother.

HISTORY;; Love is an unpredictable thing. Intertwined with fate, it seems an almost impossible outcome to predict. Some discover it, some don’t … and whether others prefer to live without it, there’s no escaping it when it so chooses them. For Sebastian Braxton, it had been a completely uncontrollable aspect in his life. A naturally hard man, there were very few who loved him. Many respected him of course, but it would prove to be a difficult task to honestly say that they loved him. His own mother and father had been strict and oftentimes overbearing. Hard work was what they lived by, Braxton very little to no time to relax and enjoy one another’s company. Of course Sebastian himself might attest to the fact that even if they did take that time, enjoyment wouldn’t exactly be the result. Living in France, the majority of his childhood, he was attended to by a private tutor and schooled in magic far beyond the average age of those in the United Braxtondom.

Eventually, when he turned nineteen years old, Sebastian met a young woman by the name of Anya. She was indescribably beautiful, but not in the way one might assume. Her nose was crooked and she was skeletal, but there was a haunting loveliness in her eyes and smile. She was intelligent and ladylike, so needless to say he found her quite enchanting. Unfortunately what Sebastian didn’t know was that this woman was indeed a Muggle, and having been born into such a prestigious line of Pureblooded aristocrats, he had a reputation to keep up. They tried to keep it a secret, but it wasn’t long before his parents discovered what they were up to. Immediately action was taken, and Anya was forbidden to come within twenty feet of their beloved son, much less speak with him at any time.

Another year passed slowly and Sebastian was officially an adult. No longer was he obligated to abide by his parents’ wishes, but surprisingly, Anya was not on his mind. During that year he’d pushed himself harder than he ever had in an effort to forget about the only woman he’d ever loved. He’d lost himself in the process until all that he could think about was establishing a place for himself away from the security of his father and mother’s influence. He wanted to do it on his own and so ended up immigrating to Britain, taBraxton up permanent residence there and quickly finding work in the Ministry. Because of his reputation and flawless academic history, he was spotted quickly and referred to the Department of Magical Law Enforcement by Malfoy senior. They became close friends from there, and some even venture so far as to say that this friendship was the cause for Sebastian’s turn for the worse.

Melania Peters had always been a sweet young thing. Full of energy and reared by a grandmother who pampered her to her heart’s content; it wasn’t a surprise she grew to expect to always be seated in the lap of luxury. Initially she wasn’t particularly interested in her studies, and had to be quickly broken of this rebellious attitude. However she continued to mature with age and grew to be the lady her demanding mother expected. Because her father owned large corporations overseas, she rarely saw him but it concerned her very little. Over time she was allowed to attend her mother’s social soirees, paraded about much like a prized poodle with ribbons in her hair and a fake smile across her lips. Eventually she was even able to run some of them on her own, and grew to be respected and admired for her beauty and charm by many of high-society’s wealthier ladies. In fact it was at one of these parties Sebastian and Melania first laid eyes upon one another. One of the younger Malfoy cousins had convinced him to go and he had agreed. Sparks flew the moment they were introduced. In his eyes, she was Britain’s princess, all golden hair and long, delicate limbs and he was her French rogue; dark hair, swarthy skin and a thick brogue which was beginning to acclaim some British feel. It didn’t help that they were both young and ambitious with all the time in the world at their disposal. One thing led to another and as most might assume, fate decided to make its arrival.

First it was Wren, and the proud parents were happy. However with their businesses flourishing and Sebastian’s work more demanding than ever, there was no desire for any more children. These things happen however; passion overcomes sense and one night after a long drawn-out argument, newly wedded Mr. and Mrs. Braxton conceived what he would at least soon consider a mistake.
It was true, for a long time Wren was nothing but a liability to Sebastian. With little respect to spare for women save for the pleasure their bodies elicited, they were nothing. However, astoundingly, it was he she took after and a mutual respect settled between them.

Concerning the relationship she had with the younger brother that eventually made his way into their lives, it was vague and really nothing special. There were always points of tension between the two however. This might have been due to the fact that Wren was older and wiser than and not quite as spontaneous as her younger counterpart. Gregory – the young boy – was understandably upset when Wren accepted her invitation to Hogwarts. At first it had been Durmstrang he’d been interested in, and his father would have supported it whole-heartedly had he not had his heart set on having his only son join the Ministry upon graduation, and living in Bulgaria would have made that impossible.

She proved herself to be an ideal student, content and kind despite the notoriously bitchy reputation that seemed to trail her everywhere. She’d lost a few friends along the way, but it wasn’t until mid second year when she began to change. Her current companions speculate it was due to the revelation of her father’s long-term affair and the night he – reportedly – man handled Melania. It was Braxton to everyone who knew about it that she didn’t file for divorce. But how could she? He was everything to her. Besides, she vowed she still loved him even if he no longer reciprocated the same. She believed she could change him and so life went on as normal as possible with her brother playing stupid. It seemed to affect the Braxton daughter the most, to see her mother in such a troubled state. It seems now she has taken to distracting herself by doing exactly as her father had done, pushing herself to do better than her best in order to please her mother and bring her some joy, as well as throw herself into the social scene and ensure that people remember her name.

Things are fast-paced for Wren with very little certainty as to where exactly she’ll end up.
Of course, there never really is a guarantee as to how things will end. She just hopes it was all worth it.

KISS THE PLANET GOODBYE

BECAUSE WE ARE OFF TO MARS

NICKNAME;; Claire
HOW DID YOU FOUND US;; Proboards Support
TIME ROLE PLAYING;; Nine years, give or take.
HOW DO WE CONTACT YOU;; PM to start, or AIM works as well. My screenname is: fleur seduisant

EXAMPLE RP;; There would have been no justifiable reason for her to forsake the second chance she had been given; the chance at another life. Pain washed over her but as much as she wanted to scream in agony, she could only bring herself to quietly embrace it. Bile rose in her throat and she fought, barely successfully, to swallow it back biting down upon her tongue with enough force to draw instead the taste of blood. It comforted her in a way, if only because it was something familiar. Something she could count on. Her body – slight and slender and much too delicate to have been able to withstand such suffering – quaked and shuddered. Her blatant nakedness was much less of a priority at this point, if only because there would be no one around for miles who might stumble upon such a sorry sight to take enough notice. If there had been, that sort of vulnerability wouldn’t have overcome the shame of not being able to do much of anything besides curl up and wait for the convulsions to subside. Despite the warmth of the morning light that broke across the distant hillsides the woman’s shivering did not discontinue and the chattering of her teeth only grew more pronounced. Eyelids squeezed tightly shut against the sudden and offensive brightness and her fingernails dug viciously into the palms of her hands. Hundreds of visions swam within her troubled mind, not all of them making any sense. Only occasionally would she be able to focus on one for longer than a few moments and even then it was distorted and unrecognizable. Somewhere nearby the leaves on a tree rustled, causing her to break her concentration and realign upon what she needed to do. But the effort was too much, and she only lifted herself up a fraction on her elbows for mere seconds before she was collapsing back upon the ground; one cheek turned into the dirt while the other only remained lightly bruised. Every bone in her body ached in protest, every exposed portion of creamy white skin was tinted a sickly blue and her long dark hair was tangled. There couldn’t have been any creature that looked as pathetic as she did but there had never existed a King that could have rivaled her pride and satisfaction at the way things had turned out; as though she had meant them to be so.

And then another sort of pain exploded before her eyes, dazzling her in such a way that she was completely unprepared for it. Fear consumed her, dragging her down into a pit of despair where she recalled she’d once lived. At first the images were strange; shadows and irregular shapes looming out of focus. They were bent over her lifeless form, speaking amongst themselves in hushed whispers. Suddenly a light that was not the sun blinded her and she cried out, moving her arm to shield herself from it but to no avail. The girl on the table did not move; only her eyes. Lashes fluttered open gingerly at first, tears streaming down the sides of her face against the uncalled for flare and sharpness of the sights and sounds all around her. At first she was numb, as though she were observing peacefully from a distance but then the realization that she was strapped to a cold operating table hit her and she reacted. Her back arched and she squeezed her eyes shut, writhing upon the hard dirt, pulled back and forth between the present and those haunting memories of things she couldn’t will herself to remember. Anger and the frustration of being restrained by the leather straps that bound her ankles and wrists overwhelmed her. It wasn’t anything she’d ever experienced before. The emotions were so strong, so beautiful that she found she could not and would not attempt to control them. Instead she acted upon impulse and before the men in crisp white suits could get to the door she was crushing them mercilessly beneath her clawed paws. For no longer was she the innocent young woman she had been, but a monstrous beast; the alter-ego that lay dormant for so many years finally bursting forth in recognition of its calling to redeem itself and seek justice. Her jaws snapped viciously and she lunged for each of them, completely ignoring the other unfortunate souls who had unwillingly found themselves part of the experimentation. Her actions were maintained completely by blood lust but it faded before she could do very much damage; the nausea causing her rear back and then bolt. Mindless, senseless, confused and desperate meanderings were what fueled her to locate the closest possible exit and she was dragging herself as far away as possible. Needless to say it wasn’t long before she was collapsing upon the very spot she now laid in better awareness, just as the first sign of dawn broke across the sky in brilliant scarlets, golds and purples.

She was turned upon her stomach again, arms wrapped tightly about her abdomen as though she were trying to hold herself together. Tatters of the clothing she had been given lay a few feet away from her, unusable now. Her breathing had become shallow and she heaved a few times fruitlessly, as nothing came up. Her system was cleaned out so the gesture only served to worsen her state. For a moment she was able to raise herself to her knees but instantly became disoriented and watery-eyed. Slowly though, the physical pain lessened and she stopped swaying. Everything became eerily still and even the natural chorus of nature and wildlife around her quieted. It was as though she had grown deaf and her slender eyebrows pinched together as she strained to hear something, anything. And then it came, piercing her eardrums so that she was wishing she hadn’t hoped so feverishly in the first place. It was a voice, deep and masculine and undeniably angry … but it didn’t belong to the men from the catacombs. No, this one she knew all too well and she flinched away from it as though it had struck her. His angular, handsome face wavered somewhere in front of her and she scurried backward despite her protesting muscles. Another hallucination. And this too had already taken place. Sometime it seemed, long ago. Her then fiancée had been grasping his hair, tugging on it in his exasperation as she stood facing him with wide, innocent eyes. The smell of freshly-baked pie drifted from a place in the center of the table. It had always been his favourite. She thought he might have appreciated it after his long day at work. Apparently she had thought wrong.

“You’re such a worthless f**k**g bitch, you know that?” he’d shouted, glaring at her. “I ask you to do one thing, one simple thing and you still manage to screw it up! Didn’t your father teach you anything? Oh … well, I guess not. He was too busy nursing that precious f**k**g bottle of vodka to take much notice of the stupid, mediocre wretch that his wife left him with. You know, I actually pity the bastard. Maybe what happened was meant to be his reprieve from the shithole he stewed in for all those years? I know I’d take it to this crap any day.” Suddenly he was eyeing the pie she’d made and grinned sardonically at her before sticking one finger past the crust and licking the filling off with cruel triumph.

“Oh, and I always thought these were lousy.”

And with that, he’d slammed the door and gone. He wasn’t drunk, that at least might have excused his behaviour in her mind. And he’d never touched her, but somehow … he hadn’t needed to. Similar rages would occur occasionally throughout their relationship since the psychologists had diagnosed him with Intermittent Explosive Disorder, but she never reacted. Never stepped out of place, if only because she loved him when he wasn’t the spawn of the devil that sometimes possessed his soul. She always forgave him, but that night – when he sauntered through the doors and pulled her persuasively into the bedroom – after he had, had his fill and was asleep she found there could only be one escape without doing him too much harm. Cutting had always seemed so vile to her but it gave her a strange sort of pleasure, knowing that it wouldn’t take long. That it would be too late when he awoke. But it wasn’t the heaven she’d expected.

How long she’d been asleep she did not know. But things had changed beyond any possible means of deciphering it. She had changed. The only question was, for the better?