:·.☽✧ 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 004. Overwhelming Wake Up Calls
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Regret was an emotion that frequently visited Marcella's mind to torment her, faces that mocked her confidence until they crumbled to the pit of her stomach with nausea. Her mind would stamp pieces of paper on her back with KICK ME written in bold, laughing in the corner as her own self-conscious guilt would do as commanded: enjoy the mockery.
Marcella had taught herself to mask her self inflicted bullying. How to wear a face of indifference when she did or said something that others would deem as unacceptable. Something that made her stick out as wrong or brutal or cowardice.
Heartless.
She had learnt long ago, in a room of twisted stone with a ceiling of infinity, that emotion was The Truths weakness. It was in that cold unrelenting space where not even a bolt lighting thrown by Zeus' hand could make the stone shift, where a sacrament echoed like a ghosts whisper.
Be that in which is ever unchanging, embody the strength of unrelenting and characterised viciousness of a blunt or sharp stone.
She could still feel the liquid ice falling upon her forehead and the soreness scratching at her throat as she repeated and repeated and repeated that lesson. Over and over and over until her voice turned coarse and then numbed and then abandoned all tone. A face of impassive rock, a voice of stone. But a mind of many thoughts as she silently begged for the droplets to fight against gravity and reach her tongue, to ease the dryness. It never did and yet, she'd learnt the lesson as a knife turned to a fist, to a slap and then a pat on the back of congratulations.
Ever since that day, she has mastered hiding how her mind would fog over with thoughts too loud to ignore. How they'd rumble with thunder, how her own words or actions struck her heart like lightening. Instead, she acted as though she was a smooth summers breeze. But inside, it invaded her every waking thought, like a draught of all the things she could have done or said things differently. How she should have done or said things differently.
She hated it, the delay in which she remembered she was no longer that obedient blade. How she could speak her mind and express her hearts emotion without punishment. She hated that it almost always came at a time when it was least useful: when she was alone and out of opportunities to make a change or apologise. When it was too late.
Like now, driving through the streets alone once more with the moon slowly beginning to rise. Just an hour ago she was driving with the same frown on her face, watching the sun settle. The parallel of constant dismay, for every circle has an opposite with the exact same curve. Her cycle from day to night seemed to follow the same trend, no matter where or in what condition she stood. If she could stand at all.
