𝐡𝐞𝐚𝐥 𝐦𝐞 | ✔

ʜᴇᴀʟᴇᴅ

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☆*: .｡. The Epilogue .｡.:*☆

Two years later

The dreamcatcher at the door chimes, raising a few heads in the rowdy cafe as the door opens. In walks a reserved raven-haired girl, looking only at her feet as she walks to an empty table. She pulls the Della Robbia blue beanie on her head down further like she's hiding.

Her hand tightens on her backpack strap as she stops looking around. Still wearing her school uniform, which consists of a navy blue blazer, skirt and white t-shirt, she smooths her skirt down with her other hand.

The old TV on the wall crackles, the screen becoming pixelated for a rapid split second.

She finds herself a table by the window and sits down with a shaky breath. With her elbows on the table and fingers slipping beneath her beanie to curl around her hair strands, she breathes out a shaky breath.

Blinking twice, a tear drips slowly down her cheek onto the table. Her heart is pounding– in her chest, in her throat, in her ears. The panic is inescapable. The lashes that frame her murky green eyes are soaked with tears that just keep coming.

She squeezes her eyes shut and tries to breathe properly. Four seconds in, hold for seven, and release for eight. She counts, muttering under her breath the technique she's been taught. The way her chest rises and falls begins to slow down, peace settling inside of her bones.

What haunts her eyes the most is her memories. The bad memories with the bad ghosts. They come in her sleep, curling their claws around her ankles and dragging her into the depths of dysphoria. She drowns in their cruel touches, suffocating, and their deep hoarse laughs trap her inside a reality that has no bars trapping her in but no way to get out. Unless she wakes up.

Why did they have to save me too? She questions every night. She questions it now too. Why didn't they just save themselves?

Her raven hair covers her face, like curtains. In front of her, lies an untouched plate of scones and a half-drank cup of coffee. She faces the window, peeking between her dark strands of hair at everyone running in the rain to their cars.

The rain. The pitter-patter of rain against the window is as perfect as music.

Letting out an exhausted sign she looks down at her lap, where she has a notepad and pen hidden.

Someone else in the cafe changes the channel. The news channel. They've been raving about the Diamante house for the whole day– all facts and figures completely incorrect. Money is a great manipulator.

That causes an amused tilt to her lips. She sits up a little more, pushing her hair behind her ear and revealing her murky green eyes. She finds it uncomfortable to even say her feelings, never mind writing them.

"Today marks the two-year anniversary of the fall of the 2nd wealthiest crime family, the Sicilian impostors. Foul play was reported by locals to police who reportedly didn't arrive at the scene until hours later, where the Diamante house was found burned to the ground. A few bodies were found but many were burned to ash and buried beneath the rubble making the exact number of victims impossible to determine. One of the bodies found was the infamous Giuseppe Genovese, who, by forensics, was examined and concluded to be killed by strangulation. The rope around his neck was found attached to the 4000 euro chandelier that was also destroyed in the fire."

She cocks her head at the TV, more amusement crossing her features.

"Furthermore, the now-identified body of Thomas Capell was found severely mutilated with a missing eye, several limbs and his tongue. Capell also suffered from internal bleedings, but what pathologists claimed to be his direct cause of death was cyanide poisoning."

She relaxes.

"Despite foul play being suspected, after two years, the Italian government has stopped the investigation to find the offenders of this heinous crime, and instead has put up the 24-acre land for sale, which was immediately bought by an anonymous buyer, rumoured to be a new billionaire business mogul."

This time she smiles, her face no longer concealed.

"Remnants of a twenty-nine-year-old female and thirty-year-old male, the woman only now identified to be Devi Bhatt, were found. The pair were believed to be the last victims of the fire with their bodies, found to be burnt to a crisp against each other and perished– a heart-wrenching and touching story that will be remembered."

Her smile grows. She looks down, shaking her head

"What're you smilin' at?" an old man snaps, startling her so she sits straight. His grey eyes scrutinise her– a small insignificant person who's only lived a measly eighteen years.

"Sorry sir," she says, uncertainty in her features, "sometimes, when the government says an event is untraceable or unexplainable, I can't help but think how much they were paid to say that."

The old man doesn't hide his shock. He's displeased. After all, how could some teenager disrespect a government like that?

"What is your name?" he asks.

"Phoenix," she replies, immediately regretting it.

He begins to talk– telling her off for her disrespect which she blatantly ignores by pulling her beanie over her ears.

Phoenix's eyes crease with the thrill of the secret, her own thoughts clouding her mind, making her slouch again and stare out of the window. Cesspools of memories fill her mind– the ashes which they perished in, becoming clear as day. People burn in fires. Animals burn in fires. Limb from limb, it will sear through your skin, your flesh, until there's nothing remaining. Living or not, you will burn in the most painful way possible known to man. 

But..., a thought runs through Phoenix's mind like a shiver. 

Angels don't burn. They fall from grace.

𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐄𝐧𝐝.