She held her hand out, trying to reach for Maria's grasp. Maria gave a hurtful glare, clipping the clasp of her own fingertips from the cliff.
Victoria watched as she fell down towards the void, but Maria could see the shadow of Thomas behind Victoria, standing tall over her as he watched her fall with a dull smirk.
Maria's eyes went stale, and all she could do was blank their faces and start from zero. What was the point in caring when the person she tries hard to shine the light upon only hugs the shadow in noon?
A small laugh came through her lips as she hit the nothingness. Humans are hard to understand. Their concept of love, their ability to ignore the repetitions of their own mistakes. She did understand how bad the attachment could be, she couldn't even let go of Lucy even if she tried.
The thought of losing her pitted a deep hole in her stomach, but then again they managed to draw past the scratches on their chalk board and piece the pages of the book together.
But...She'll never understand—how humans will watch their world crumble within one's grasp and still crave the burning grip of their guilted resentment. How they'll ignore the outcomes of their own mistakes repeatedly trying to believe the empty feeling that it'll be different.
They blame themselves for demonizing their significant other towards their friends, wondering why they hate them so much—but what is even the point of demonizing them if all you could see is their mistakes far past from the things they do for you?
And they only bring up the good in them when they want to deny the fact it was all just a fairy tale. A sad, blatant, fairy tale. They watch the world burn, setting everything they love on fire for a shadow meant to haunt the deepest graves of their mind—then wondering why the only thing that bends to their knee are ashes.
They never know what they're doing. They'll only ever want to feel it fall apart, unravel, and weave itself back in a different patter only for the threads to unravel the same damn way it did. They don't even care if they lose their mind, somehow they're already cold.
But so was she. Her eyes tired into a sad resentment that seeped through the breath in her nose. An anger whistled through her lips as she watched the sky darken into a blackness that overtook the void.
The vision of Victoria and Thomas disappeared, and all that remained were the lingering questions of philosophy. Love really is a twisted thing, it is both a concept and a feeling. You can question every piece of its existence, yet experience every bit of its concept.
