May Death Do Us Part | RB ✔︎

TWENTY TWO ☆ MONHAGEN

Death is a weird feeling.

Cold but warm. Light but dark. Nothing and everything.

It's a vast land of nothingness, nothing but darkness clouding my vision and silence drowning my ears and forcing my mind to collapse in on itself out of pure madness. It's a quiet place, leaving me alone with the thoughts I don't have and the feelings I lack.

Maybe I'm going crazy.

Maybe everything never happened. Maybe nothing took place and the world is at peace, and there is no blood war, and Voldemort never existed, and I never existed. Maybe Everything is a fallacy, happening in my nonexistent mind and we're just cells, stretching apart into a string of molecules, stretching into atoms, which pull apart and fracture as we're thrown off of this world and into the next, and the next, and the next, and into a black hole which sprouts us into another universe entirely.

The air is brisk, but humid and dry all at the same time. It's like I'm suffocating on too much air. My heart thunders in my ears and blood whooshes through my veins and I can hear every drop coursing beneath my skin, but it's muted and I can't make out a single sound.

And it smells like... like strawberries and flowers and death. Like decaying skin and rotting organs and lavender. But the air is too thick to smell and too thin to breathe in.

I rub my fingers together at my sides, feeling the coarse ridges of my fingertips dragging against one another. And they're slippery and dry all at once.

And I start to walk. My legs push hard to keep the heavy weightlessness off of the dark ground. The blackness stretches for miles in every direction and I'm suddenly dizzy with the realization that I'll never make it out of this nothingness.

I'm spinning, trying to find a direction, when it dawns on me that I'm not even sure which way I came from. And My heart pounds, and my blood whooshes, and my ears ring. I drag my hands up to my head, covering my ears with my palms and blinking through my blurred vision.

I force the tears away, holding my ears and shaking my head so violently it feels as though my skull might pop open and my brain will just climb out and fall onto the ground in front of me.

I hear a giggle. And, maybe it's me, officially losing my mind. Maybe its finally slipping away from me after all of the heinous acts I've committed toward innocent people. Maybe I'm living in my own personal purgatory, stuck between hell and something darker because my soul is so dark that it's nearly stained black, dripping with dark grease and leaking over my hands and I realize,

It's not grease.

It's blood.

And there it is again.

That childlike giggle that has goosebumps climbing up my arms and down my back because it sounds so so familiar. The kind of giggle that feels like a best friend and worst enemy mixed into one, because it's the kind that's so welcoming and foreign.

And it grows closer and I understand that it's behind me.

I spin around, flinching at the sight of a little girl. Her hair is a carbon copy of my mother's copper mess of curls, dangling over her face as she smiles up at me, her hand reaching out for me to take. Her bright green eyes stare up and me and the wind is knocked from my un-working lungs.

"Lorena." I whisper, my mind struggling to catch up with what is happening.

She beams up at me, slipping her hand into mine without a word. And she's spinning me around and I halt.

A white door, seemingly coming from nowhere, stands tall right in front of me. It's bolted into nothing, the handle silver and taunting. The wooden panels are engraved with a singular large M, Lorena's eyes drawn to the door, examining it.