Broken And Scarred

Truth Or Dare.

Swearing, Depressing thoughts, mentions of murder and idiotic shit. And I don't own the Tell Tale Heart, it was originally written by Edgar Allen Poe. (In class we're reading it in class and I thought it would be something Wanda would read. Idk)

Aurora's POV

I walk away from Steve and grab a bottle of sprite.

"Who the FUCK drank my sprite?" Whoops.

"Sorry dude." I call to Pietro.

"You owe me a soda." He growls.

"Or a round of truth or dare." He smirks.

"Speed Demon, you're on."  I reply.

"WANDA! Come here!" He calls.

"Yes?" She growls, holding a book. Never disturb a reader.

"Wanna play truth or dare?" He asks, grinning.

"Yes. Rory truth or dare?" How dare she.

"Dare. I ain't a coward." I growl.

"I dare you to  ask Pete out on a date. I mean, you obviously like him!" She grins manically.

"I-I would like that." I mutter.

"Oh what was that?" Wanda teases, her bad mood gone.

"Fuck off." I snarl.

"So, what were you reading?" Pietro asks, changing the subject.

"The telltale heart." Wanda replies, hovering her book over.

"Can you read it out loud please?" I ask, getting up to yeet the can in the bin.

"Ok? It's long though." She looks uncertain but opens the book anyway.

"Ok. Here goes.

TRUE! --nervous --very, very dreadfully nervous I had been and am; but why will you say that I am mad? The disease had sharpened my senses --not destroyed --not dulled them. Above all was the sense of hearing acute. I heard all things in the heaven and in the earth. I heard many things in hell. How, then, am I mad? Hearken! and observe how healthily --how calmly I can tell you the whole story.

It is impossible to say how first the idea entered my brain; but once conceived, it haunted me day and night. Object there was none. Passion there was none. I loved the old man. He had never wronged me. He had never given me insult. For his gold I had no desire. I think it was his eye! yes, it was this! He had the eye of a vulture --a pale blue eye, with a film over it. Whenever it fell upon me, my blood ran cold; and so by degrees --very gradually --I made up my mind to take the life of the old man, and thus rid myself of the eye forever.

Now this is the point. You fancy me mad. Madmen know nothing. But you should have seen me. You should have seen how wisely I proceeded --with what caution --with what foresight --with what dissimulation I went to work! I was never kinder to the old man than during the whole week before I killed him. And every night, about midnight, I turned the latch of his door and opened it --oh so gently! And then, when I had made an opening sufficient for my head, I put in a dark lantern, all closed, closed, that no light shone out, and then I thrust in my head. Oh, you would have laughed to see how cunningly I thrust it in! I moved it slowly --very, very slowly, so that I might not disturb the old man's sleep. It took me an hour to place my whole head within the opening so far that I could see him as he lay upon his bed. Ha! would a madman have been so wise as this, And then, when my head was well in the room, I undid the lantern cautiously-oh, so cautiously --cautiously (for the hinges creaked) --I undid it just so much that a single thin ray fell upon the vulture eye. And this I did for seven long nights --every night just at midnight --but I found the eye always closed; and so it was impossible to do the work; for it was not the old man who vexed me, but his Evil Eye. And every morning, when the day broke, I went boldly into the chamber, and spoke courageously to him, calling him by name in a hearty tone, and inquiring how he has passed the night. So you see he would have been a very profound old man, indeed, to suspect that every night, just at twelve, I looked in upon him while he slept.