Luke Castellan xOC
Once I had wondered what was holdin' up the ground
But I can see that all along, love, it was you all the way down
(completed 10/2/24)
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i am my mother's child
⋆₊ ⋆☼ ⁺₊⋆｡ﾟ☁︎｡⋆｡ ﾟ☾ ﾟ｡⋆
Andromeda
Andromeda dreamed of a jail cell.
No, no, no, she thought, not again. She tried to force the dream away, but it clung to her mind against her will. The world around her solidified, and she found herself, once more, sitting in the corner of a holding cell. She was eleven, fidgeting with nervous hands, her pulse pounding in her ears. She'd stolen one of her friend's parents' boats that day, the impulse pushing her, pulling her in directions she couldn't explain. The voice in her head had been insistent, a whisper threading through her thoughts, coaxing her into recklessness.
Now, she sat alone, knees pulled to her chest, waiting. Through the bars, she watched her mother approach with an officer at her side. Her mother's face was a mask of disappointment, but there was more behind it—something sharper, fiercer, barely held in check. Latent fury. Andromeda had seen that look before.
I'm in trouble.
The officer spoke to her mother in low tones, the words blurring together, lost to the haze of fear that gripped her. Her heart drummed painfully in her chest, her throat dry as the cell door creaked open. She stood hesitantly, legs stiff from sitting too long.
Her mother didn't say a word as she led Andromeda out of the police station. Her mother's silence was louder than any lecture she could have given. The cold night air hit Andromeda's face, a stark contrast to the stifling atmosphere inside the cell. She wanted to explain, to apologize, Words bubbled up in her throat—I'm sorry, I didn't mean to, it wasn't my fault—but every time she opened her mouth, her mother's silence seemed to grow louder.
The car ride was worse. Andromeda slid into the passenger seat, the leather cool beneath her, stiff and unwelcoming. Her mother slammed the door shut, the sound sharp, final. The engine growled to life, and they pulled away from the curb. The road stretched ahead, illuminated by fleeting streetlights that cast long, fleeting shadows across her mother's face. Andromeda risked a glance at her, hoping for some sign of forgiveness.
Nothing. Her mother's hands gripped the wheel, knuckles white, her eyes fixed on the road ahead as if it were the only thing that mattered. The fury that had been in her eyes at the station seemed to have been replaced by something else—something deeper and more painful.
Minutes passed. The silence was suffocating, thick with unspoken words. Then, her mother exhaled, a slow, weary sigh that filled the car like a thunderclap. Andromeda flinched.
"I just don't know what to do anymore, Andromeda," her mother said, her voice was strained, like a bowstring pulled too tight. "I don't know how to teach you responsibility. Your father wants to send you to military school and I have half a mind to let him. Why-- why can't you just be..."
