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PROLOGUE LIVING DEAD GIRL
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Alone, she's concluded. That's exactly what she is. A word she's become far too familiar with. A word that'll either comfort her or haunt her. Running on nothing but sorrow— nothing but the deep ache in her chest and the blood on her hands— all Alaska knows is that she is entirely alone.
She should've seen this coming. She should've waited for it. Once you're alone for so long, you make peace with that idea.
Alaska should've known.
Betrayal leaves a bitter taste on her tongue. Maybe she cries of fury. So much pain collects itself in her heart, years and years of torment and sufferance. Or maybe she cries because she knows that she'll never fully regret what she did to survive. Maybe she cries because she realizes the monstrosity she's become, a shadowed figure, a wretched reflection of her mother.
Alaska runs from it all. Physically and mentally. There's a small voice in her head, telling her that this could be her chance to escape her life. A life that her mother had shaped to be Alaska's own personal hell.
Her feet hurt and her legs burn with each sudden movement. Her crystal clear tears blind her and her gasps for air cause stabs of pain towards her chest.
Yet, she runs.
Alaska can't bare the sights that surround her. Sybil's bloodied body, almost identical to that of a mutilated animal. The way her mother had grabbed at her wound, begging for some form of mercy— either from Alaska, or simply from God himself. The green of the forests; a place she had once held so dearly, now a place of brutal reminiscence. A place of betrayal.
It was self defense, Alaska tries to convince herself meanwhile her lungs begin to give out. She hurt me, so I hurt her. Right?
Drops of blood paint the grass, seeping through her shirt. Alaska doesn't think she's ever seen this much of it at once. She could never get used to the sight of blood, thick and red— not like Sybil was.
