𝐖𝐄'𝐋𝐋 𝐂𝐀𝐑𝐑𝐘 𝐎𝐍, five hargreeves¹

𝟎𝟔 the grains of sand within the hourglass

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⊹⊱ № 𝟎𝟐.𝟎𝟔 ⊰⊹
𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐆𝐑𝐀𝐈𝐍𝐒 𝐎𝐅 𝐒𝐀𝐍𝐃
𝐖𝐈𝐓𝐇𝐈𝐍 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐇𝐎𝐔𝐑𝐆𝐋𝐀𝐒𝐒

"'cause we lost it all.
nothing lasts forever"
perfect; simple plan

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IT'S BEEN SEVEN YEARS since the disbandment of the academy, but the seventh child still remained hidden from the eyes of the world, cursed by her upbringing. She thought leaving that place meant that she'll finally find people she belonged with. She thought she'd finally be included, appreciated, and loved, yet it was still all the same.

Somehow, a part of her was convinced that she truly was nothing special.

It was one of the things that terrified her most. Eliza wasn't there to take her fear away. Five wasn't there to talk sense into her. Eight wasn't there to assure her and prove her otherwise.

It felt as if the world was always deaf to her sound.

Amidst her stay in university, one of her professors recommended her to seek professional help. She was stuck in a slump, found it hard to pick up the violin after her sister disappeared. She eventually tried therapy, and at a certain point, it helped; but somehow, she still found herself coming and going despite how many years had passed.

"It's acceptable that you feel that way," her therapist tells her, intertwining her fingers together. From her gestures, Vanya could tell that she was getting serious. "Sometimes, people —especially those who have gone through similar situations as you have— inevitably get a relapse and learn that their symptoms still prevail no matter how long it's passed."

"It's not always about solving things. It's about trying to find a way to help you co-exist with these, to help you cope and function as you yearn to," she continues, observing the girl despite how Vanya was adamant not to look her in the eye.

Vanya only nods quietly.

Prior to that hour, she brought up her usual dilemmas: how she found it hard to find her music, hard to get over her life, and how she found herself stuck in the same loop. No matter how hard she tried, it felt as if all her hard work would continue to remain insignificant.

"Forgive me for bringing her up, but think of it this way," her therapist gives her a tight-lipped smile. "If your sister was here, do you think she'd say such things?"

No. Eight loved her music. She's always been the one to push her back, to tell her the words she sought to hear from their father. Instead of not playing because of her, Vanya knows might as well play for her.

But then again, Eight was gone ages ago, and no amount of songs can ever bring her back.

When she notices how her patient continues to remain at loss, the woman suggests an alternative, "How about a different outlet? Have you ever tried writing in a journal? It's a good way to express your unfiltered thoughts. You wouldn't have to worry about what other people have to say."

"Okay," Vanya finally nods. "I'll keep it in mind."

It was the same reason why the girl found herself standing in front of the pawnshop after her violin practice. She buys the red typewriter that caught her eye.