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chapter forty-seven. cw: cocaine use, please read with caution. ( fifty-four days )
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ASCELLA BLACK WAS A NUMBER OF THINGS, to put it simply — she was impulsive, and was heated with rage at most times, but, reckless, everyone supposed, was the best word to describe her with.
Recklessness was her virtue. She wasn't afraid of consequences, because nothing could've been worse than the life she had been burdened with. She was the type of girl to always say yes, and then think of her actions later, and what sort of impact they could've had. She wasn't the sort of girl to be on edge, or nervous, in any way — she lived life like the next day would be her last, and swore to make however many years left she had, worthwhile.
Ascella was fire, and incandescent, and glowed as she strutted through life. She was painful to the touch, and the more she came crumbling down, the more she began to singe those who surrounded her. She burned the eyes of people who looked at her, and swore with ferocity in her voice that she'd leave a burn in her wake.
Fifty-four days ago, Caelum Lestrange died. His death left a hole within Ascella's soul, shattering down her walls that she had manufactured in her mind, leaving her open and vulnerable to anything. Caelum had been steady, and calm amongst the midst of chaos and lunacy that they were swirled around in. He was warm and comforting, a cardigan on the coldest of days.
Fifty-four days ago, Ascella Black discovered she would die. Whether it would be weeks, or months, or even years, her life would cease to exist, and she would only be a mere stain on the world, life passing her by whilst she move within the land of the dead. In the short weeks that had occurred since she'd been told, she'd, only enough, found a way to resonate with it. She did not weep about it, or mull it over, she accepted it with open arms. There wasn't anything she could do — she couldn't prevent it, or try to stop her death, it would happen, one way or another.
