⋆ ˚୨ 🐈⬛ ୧⋆｡*ೃ༄˚ ⋆ 𝐓𝐑𝐎𝐔𝐁𝐋𝐄 ▬ I've been facing 𝒕𝒓𝒐𝒖𝒃𝒍𝒆 almost all my life ( ❝ you're a great thief, you managed to steal my heart! ❞ ) my sweet love won't you pull me through?▬ 𝐓𝐑𝐎𝐔𝐁𝐋𝐄 *ೃ༄˚ ⋆ ˚୨ 🐈⬛ ୧
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( TROUBLE. ) ❛ he said 𝒏𝒐𝒕𝒉𝒊𝒏𝒈 compares to the 𝒇𝒆𝒗𝒆𝒓 𝒅𝒓𝒆𝒂𝒎 it's what I do I wait for 𝒚𝒐𝒖. ❜
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CURIOSITY KILLED THE CAT, a phrase so often used in prevention of allowing creativity to spill in splatters of vibrant ink from the mind. A limiting remark accustomed to depriving the risks of exposure and peril, enforcing a barricade of restricted knowledge and boredom. And at an oddly young age, Felicity Amber had quickly sneaked into curiosity's grasp. Simply because... she was an inquisitive child with an inquisitive passion to wonder.
It amused her how easy it was to submit to inquiry, like a feline toying humorously with an eternal ball of yarn. Her inkling for more, however, had somehow navigated her to leisurely stroll through the nearby store of delicate ornaments and expensive items, drawing her in deeper with every trace of her hand drifting through the racks of silk clothing. Wether she was aware of the strange looks she received from other customers, she didn't show. Instead, plastering on that smile of childish curiosity and bliss—a look very common for the children of her age. However, when the intense hue of green irises narrowed on the twinkle of a sapphire ring, the dawn of a new awakening arrived; the birth of an outlaw.
It started small. Bracelets, earrings, higher branded clothing. But still, it was never enough. She craved for more. Wether it was for her own benefit or to salvage the decaying, rotting spectral of appreciation her father carried for her, she wasn't sure... so what was the difference? In all honesty, she didn't care. She could imagine the dreamy illusion of her father's arm resting over her shoulders with pride, stating that she truly was her father's daughter. After all, it was his footsteps that overshadowed her own.
It had only taken two more years, then Felicity Amber was knee deep in her own sunken pit of conflict as she watched the swift knee of a police officer hold down her furious father, who yelled in disbelief and disarray at the accusations thrown at him. Of course, they were true though he'd rather take his secrets to the grave than admit them. Walter Amber was a cheap con-artist, making profit off of that which he stole. And now he had been sentenced to insanity within a prison institution for countless months, his legacy falling to linger on her shoulders.
The girl, who had been twelve at the time, had simply watched motionless despite her mother's fearful shushing. The woman wrapped her arms around her daughter as though to show empathy and compassion, though Felicity would've debated that her mother needed it more than herself. No, Felicity hadn't felt sorrow. She hadn't felt anything besides the barren void of emptiness, her emotions being swallowed into an even more dangerous threat—Greed.
