Can't cry.

Beliefs

Belief. What a beautifully terrifying word it is, isn't it? And trust me I have worked with words like hiraeth and petrichor, all stunning words with deep meanings.
But belief is a personal favourite.
People fight blindly for what they have a belief in, even though it might have betrayed them countless times. There was a time when I had many beliefs too.
I believed in the fact that I am confident. I believed in the fact that my parents were broad minded. Hell, I even believed that once I reached up to their expectations, I would be loved.
All shattered, of course. Oh, how naïve I was.
But there is one believe, one faith that has not shattered my heart. (It did now, worse than ever).
I believe in Magic.
I believe that one day, one day an owl will come to my window sill, and give me the declaration of freedom.
It will tell me that I can go home. Home.
This is the story of how it broke.
My mother had started scolding me an hour ago. It had turned from hurting taunts to painful screams in only a minute. And right now I was hearing how she never wanted me as her daughter. My younger brothers scattered to their rooms, afraid of her fury and my father.... he was at work, as always.
Her icy sharp comments dug in my heart as she called me names. Demon. Witch.
She was always angry, but never like this.
She accused me of being unemotional, rude and a disappointment. I who had won more medals than was countable, was a disappointment? A disgrace?!
I broke down.. thinking I had failed my goal again. All I wanted was to be seen, heard. Loved. I looked hopefully towards my shelf.
If you are real, if I really don't belong in this universe.... If you are waiting for the right time, now would be it, I desperately thought.
Nothing.
Please, I begged silently.
Nothing.
My mother started throwing stuff at the walls, breaking dishes and glasses. I put my hands up my ear.
Please.
And the last belief fell from my hand, shattering.
And right now I am focusing on finding the pieces of my last belief, now shattered, just to reconstruct it again. But something tells me that it's first fall has broken it beyond repair.
I was told that this belief is a fragile one. They were right.
My non stopping sobs gave me the idea that maybe my heart won't believe in Magic anymore... and I start sobbing even harder.
My mother's constant screams were ringing in my ear, but I don't care... I don't care about her. She could have killed me right now and I promise I wouldn't have winced.
But please tell me that Magic is real. At that moment all I needed was reassurance. I wanted somebody to come to me and comfort me that it was okay. Every single story was real. And they were just waiting, the characters, waiting for the right time.
But none of them came to help you. This beast of a voice!
I was there for them... I was there for them when they were at their worst. I cried with them.
I freaking hated people they hated, loved the ones they loved. I believed what they told me and fell to my knees with them. Never once did I left their side. Never once.
But look at me now, holding the broken pieces of my belief. The pieces were already digging in my skin leaving more injury than any physical injury ever would.
Please... someone help me. Please help me find the rest of the pieces. Tell me they aren't lost somewhere. Please.

That night my mother came and sat on my bed.
'Emma... dear I didn't really mean what I said. I was tired and I... just shouldn't have said those words. Do you forgive your mother?'
I looked silently ahead. I don't care about you, I wanted to scream. But I said nothing.
'I am bad sometimes... I know I am.... I will try harder, I promise. Do you forgive me?'
I looked at her sharply.
Does she have any freaking idea what I just have been through?! Does she know that her fantasy-mad daughter has presently accepted the fact that even fictional characters can betray her?
Probably not.
Without another word, I nodded my head and closed my eyes.
I heard a sigh of relief mixed with grief from somewhere above me.
I rolled onto my side, my head pounding with thoughts. This personality of mine wasn't doing me any favours. I needed to change that.
I needed to change me.
And so, I shall.
An unexpected grin graced my face, sinister thoughts erupting in my mind.
The old hopeful Emma is gone. Dead. Never to return. Never, ever.
You might ask,
'What can a fourteen-year-old even do?'
A lot. Trust me,