:·.☽✧ Teen Wolf
"I know I'm not one to make good decisions and do the right thing but I can confidently say that this is a terrible freakin' idea"
In which Marcella learns to see
the line between good and bad
morals all the while becoming
A HE...
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Chapter 000. I'm Coming Home, Baby!
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To say that over the past few years Marcella has gotten used to being alone would be a major understatement. 'Alone' couldn't even come close to explaining the solitude she had become accustomed to in the years of ice and execration.
She was familiar with jumping from place to place like skipping stones through water before she even had time to unpack her bags, never mind spending her respite with company or making friends. God forbid she was given the luxury, the saints would rather fall to the pits of hell before that happened. And so, they had burdened her with empty seats at non-existent dinning tables apart from her own and birthdays with the only company of FaceTime calls with no more than paper cuts from envelopes as the closest form of contact relating to family and friends.
She was used to only ordering one serving of food, singing to songs in her car alone. More frequently than not, she was laughing more at the ability to make a man cower than a joke from a companion. She'd shaken hands with solitary, felt the rawness of ice burn against her palm with a grin on her face as cold as the rime and allowed it to blister just as she hoped it would.
This was just how it was in Marcella's life; as satanically dull it sounded. Her life was a cycle of endeavours that weighed the hope of a future beyond the midnight of her darkened days. She simply had to finish what she started and then follow a new lead, likely -but not certain- towards the leather hands of lucifer offsprings. Yet, it didn't matter what direction it faced, what condition the road had eroded to or that it could be littered with feeble traps that caught her ankles to lift her into the air, she stayed on track. Elementarily continual. Non-stop.
However, this has resulted in Marcella becoming quite the misanthrope in her teenage years and being the definition of a recluse. Had the machinery of murder counted as company then perhaps she could refuse the title, but alas she could not. It waved above her head like a prideful flag and always regenerates from its ashes no matter how many times Marcella tried to set it aflame. However, she also found that reclusion was an art that wielded the wisdom of armour propre, so she didn't entirely mind. Unlike a lot of teenagers she'd crossed paths with (and hated the mere proximity of) she found comfort in the silence of isolation.
She liked not having a lot of friends that tied their souls together until she was too wrung out. Hell, if she was being honest, she's only got one true best friend and as far as she was concerned, that was enough. She'd rather stretch the string of friendships to one person, than a load that she couldn't handle.
