A young woman named Myla, or also known as; Night Wielder, roams the streets of Los Angeles as a lone bad guy and pickpocket. She's a minor known criminal who's good in remaining amongst the shadows. However, even though she enjoys living a life of...
⚠️ Warning: Sensitive topics of abuse, inc3st, and violence will be up ahead the more you read⚠️
(Sorry for the poor edits on the pictures, I made them awhile ago before writing this story)
Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
Three years ago, 2019:
I . . . need . . . to keep . . . moving
An eighteen-year-old girl tiredly kept convincing herself as she stumbled her bare feet across the steaming, rough pavement that rubbed the bottom of her soles raw.
I'm . . . I'm almost there!
Her inner voice thought, as if it were the one parched, and not her actual voice, which felt like a landscape of a dry desert that hadn't received any cool water in a long time. Her quivering body was overcome with consistent fatigue, her growling stomach pleaded a hot meal, and her heart . . . ached of heartbrokenness?
"Baby, with pure-blood, like yours, do you actually think anyone can love you? Why do you think I bought tickets to the airport for us in the first place, hm? Nobody in town liked you, so you should be grateful you even have me!"
Just keep walking, he's . . . he's not here anymore, and he wasn't worth it . . .
"No one can love a freak like you. Not like I do. Hell, not even your grandparents wanted you, so why would anyone in the city would? Are you listening to me?!? No one WIL EVER LOVE YOU LIKE I DO, YOU STUPID BITC—"
Just . . . keep . . . walking
Adjusting the strap of her brown purse over her shoulder, Myla slid her hand inside it, and felt for her dried, blood-stained knife. Just to make sure it was still there. She stopped in her tracks for a moment, dropping her knees to the ground to catch her breath. Myla brushed away a drop of sweat from her forehead, and let out an exhausted sigh. She hadn't been keeping track on how many miles she's been walking from the burning, isolated cabin, to the large city of L.A, but apparently, two weeks is all she needed to calculate: Two weeks of drinking her own pee, and extremely tired from the lack of eating. She tried driving her way to Los Angeles using her ex-boyfriend's old truck, but it only ended up breaking down within twenty minutes.
She held back a sniffle as she tried shifting her knees in a more comfortable kneeling position. She winced when she felt a sharp pain scrape her flesh.
Although, once the young woman's eyes laid upon the bright lit city, a tinge of hope flickered in her blue eyes as the orange, evening glow of L.A. illuminated its welcome to her battered face.
