It was late. again. Sleep had seemed a concept too hard to grasp, although it was something you so deeply craved - to sleep without worries - but now it had turned into something you feared. So here you are once again at the early hours of the morning.
Everyone had said the nightmares would get better. Lies for your comfort, without the desired effect left you with simple lies. You were to turn 134 in 6 days, young still, but then again, not. You had stopped recognising the day as your birthday, seeing as it had become the anniversary of something you wished not to remember.
Your 120th birthday. when the war with hybern hit, led by the night court, but everyone had suffered, especially the summer court, being at the receiving end for more suffering than the other courts had. But even having spent your life in this place, no significant attachment remained. The places you'd seen destroyed had simply earned a glance followed my mere acceptance, despite being the places you'd grown up in. Perhaps this had stemmed from your looks that didn't at all associate with the summer court. Brown curly hair, pale-ish skin and green eyes. Not at all the beautiful with hair and tan skin your mother had been blessed with. (sorry if this is inaccurate.)
You lived in this crumbling terraced house by the coast, renting, you should say, it was a place you'd been forced to move into with your mother after your childhood home had been destroyed in the first attack from hybern and had since become too unrecognisable to kindle any desire to return to it. So you and your mother had exchanged mumbles of agreement when you had brought up the subject. That's what had become of your mother, mumbles and muttering, you had given her the benefit of the doubt, losing your son is hard, especially when it was what became of her suggestion in joining Tarquin's legions. She hadn't even bothered to think about how losing a brother could affect someone but I suppose 14 years is too long to begin feeling empathy. So while she had become consumed in sorrow, her daughter had her own trauma to deal with herself. instead of facing it, you had let it haunt you in the dead of the night. 'Let' is the wrong word, it was something that had felt stolen from you, your tranquility taken from you, leaving you with your arms around yourself in the middle of the night, tears streaming down your face, the result of 10 minutes you'd drifted off in.
You refused to face what had become of you that day, your 120th. Big whoop. At least it should have been.
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That's chapter 1. i have all until chapter 13 already written so i'll copy up them when i get the chance. remember to vote, hope you enjoyed this one x 484 words.
