𝐁𝐨𝐨𝐤 𝐨𝐧𝐞 𝐨𝐟 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐛𝐫𝐨𝐤𝐞𝐧 𝐬𝐞𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐬 𝐛𝐲 𝐋𝐮𝐧𝐚𝐬𝐛𝐨𝐨𝐤𝐳:
Isadora Flores: a girl raised in captivity and brainwashed to believe she has a deadly disease that restricts her from the outside world permanently.
That was until one...
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I stare at the still water blankly. I don't understand what they want me to do—or what to do. I have no idea what I'm doing wrong either. Everyone keeps repeating the same thing into my ear.
"Focus Isadora."
"FEEL the power Isadora."
"FOCUS."
"FOCUS ISADORA."
"DO SOMETHING ISADORA."
No matter how many times they say it I still can't harness my power. And It's possibly the most frustratingly, Disappointing thing I have ever felt. And I feel that way twenty-four-seven.
Because I'm not good enough for anyone around me.
I think of ripping all my hair out of my scalp, and scratching my skin until it bleeds. I feel like a failure. Like I'm failing everyone around me. And I am, because nothing is happening. Nothing.
That's a bit graphic don't you think, Izzy?
I want that stupid voice gone.
Out of my head.
"Nothings happening." I mutter.
"Maybe it's because you aren't even attempting to do anything." Rowan says. I turn to glare at him, But my eyes betray me.
He is sat in his usual spot up against the tree. His legs are splayed out in-front of him, feet crossed over one another. And he continues to focus on the book below him. And he looks so effortlessly beautiful I feel every bit of oxygen leave my lungs.
Raven hair, so dark you could mistake it for black. And deep, rich green eyes that sparkle every-time the sun makes contact with them. It's a shade so dense and jaded it makes my skin feel feverish. And his lips, so full and so pink. A Bold nose and high cheekbones and fair skin.
He didn't even look real.
He looked like he belonged in a fairytale, as some maidens prince or something more ridiculous to think about. And he looked tired, like he hadn't slept properly in days. I wanted to ask, but his uptight demeanor could make me croak.
But his straight, dark brows furrowed in slightest. The smallest amount of his pink bottom lip curled up into his mouth, where he occasionally chews it. He looks so utterly fascinating I just stare at him.
"You're still doing nothing." He says, and his voice is deep and smooth, it could make me shiver.
His features are lying to me, He's the same grouchy boy I've trained with for two weeks.
"It doesn't matter." I stand up. "Nothing works anyways." I say. My feet move towards him—wanting a new perspective of this gorgeous boy's stupid face.
His eyes peer at me through his thick long lashes, Any girl would beg to have them. Life isn't fair.
I plop myself next to him, I can tell how uncomfortable it makes him by the way his body tenses, and secretly scootches away. He always does that though, It doesn't really bother me much. I'd probably do the same.
