The Mask Of Beauty and Rage (Brahms X Greta)

Chapter 24 - Dead Gardens

There is certainly an openness. A gaping hole she tried to hide in the back of her mind. Who was she to whisk that guilt away like an unwanted aleck? It was utterly impossible. It was dark in the middle of the night. Greta lay in bed and couldn't sleep even if she desired to, it was hopeless. Her eyes would not shut, and her overwhelmed mind would grant her the opportunity to rest. There was no peace but at the same time, there was. It was quiet, hollow in the night, and no light in sight. It was only the moon that allowed her to see the undeveloped naive little dreams. An aspect she can vanquish with just one wrong move.

Greta tossed and turned onto the other side of the bed. Hoping there might be a coolness waiting for her. She rolled her eyes still feeling harmer than the sun's deadly rise. Forget it, she confessed in reputation. With a huff, she sat up and slapped the pillow as if it failed to do its main purpose. It had one easy job and it failed to achieve it. It had made her more awake than ever. It was so annoying, it was the bed, wasn't it?! It might've been her bed, but it was not her true bedding, sheets, and cases. No, this was Brahms's bed in the Heelshire Manor. He may say everything here is just as much as Greta's and to do as she pleases with BUT it did not feel like a home. There was never any comforting warmth and yet SHE WAS BURNING UP.

"I can't do this," She stormed up in a girlish huff as she flicked her hair away from her face. It was a little longer now. To Greta's disappointment, more and more time was passing back. Time was so cruel, and it was going extremely slow. It was like a race with the tortoise and the heir. Which was which, well... Brahms seemed to move exponentially faster than the average running rate of a fully grown male. Greta was definitely the tortoise, oh yes, she felt if she ran like the wind Brahms would not be far behind. Another unpleasant memory of constantly being chased like a dog!

It annoyed her to high heaven. She tried to breathe as she looked out the window. She was doing it again. Making herself hate Brahms more than what she really felt. Greta was desperate to avoid any attachments, she wanted it to be out of her nature. Just have a cold dead heart without a beat to spare, but she did though. Her heart beating to the drum but to what? Don't be naïve, she shamed herself immensely waiting for a nun with a ruler to set her brain straight.

You care for him!

No, I don't!

Yes, you do, ADMIT IT!

NO! I WILL NOT!

FINE! Continue to be nothing but a moron constantly denying your reality!

Oh, shut up before I put your butt back in a box where you belong!

It was a war in her mind. God... maybe she really was going crazy. It was atrocious and utterly just plain sad. Greta took a sigh as she just backed away from the window to look in the mirror. Why can't her reflections just tell her what to do? Please, just give me an answer!

What should I do, do I go forward with my plan, or do I stay? No, no, that was stupid, she knew she couldn't stay and did not want to stay here... not forever at least. Yet, Brahms thinks this is permanent. What will he do when finds out my trust is just a ploy to play him for a classic gullible chump? She did not belong here and seeing the other world again from the previous visit only made her urge stronger.

She just wanted to be free from this world and all its chaos. Greta noticed her feelings for escape were stronger than her minimal feelings for Brahms. There wasn't much there, she reassured herself. If anything, there were times when she truly felt like she was taking care of the unborn child she was born. Her beat started to ache a little from the thought. She didn't want to see the tears, no more tears, please. She faced away from the mirror wholeheartedly as she moved away without a destination. This minimal space was suffocating and yet their room of hers was very spacious. Well, there wasn't enough air for her and the wardrobes, so she grunted and left the room.