𝐕𝐈. 𝐍𝐄𝐏𝐄𝐍𝐓𝐇𝐄 ➵ 𝐏𝐉𝐎 𝐱 𝐇𝐏

009.

⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾⋆⁺₊⋆

⟻ NEPENTHE ⟼

009.

the hunt.

——— ☾𖤓 ———

SEVENTY THREE, IT WAS THE NUMBER of lives Lilith had re-lived. And even then, she still couldn't answer the question. Who was she? She had no idea.

"Lilith, you have to work with me." The voice said gently, "We've went through a third of your life and you still haven't found yourself. Please, Lilith."

"I-I don't know what to do. . ." Lilith whimpered quietly, the pounding in her head growing harder and harder. "P-please. . . . stop it. . ."

"I cannot." The voice sighed, "I apologize, Lilith."

With that, Lilith let out a painful scream as she was sucked back into the buried memory deep within her.

Cold. That was the first thing she noticed. Darkness. That was the first thing she saw. Peace. That was the first thing she felt. Just for a split second, the girl had no care in the world. There was not a single memory she recalled, the atmosphere surrounding her was soothing, pleasant, relaxing.

The feeling of tugging on the corner of her lips as she felt herself smile blissfully at the cold air of the night. The moment of peace was gone in an instant as everything came crashing back to her. The circulation from her lungs was cut off as she struggled to breathe, panicking as waves of images came flashing on hermind.

Red, that was the first thing she noticed.... Blood? And the next thing was white? A bright white light, she was sure of it. She slowly glanced to the side and saw a shiny piece of metal which caught her eye. A razor.

Oh. Realization dawned upon her, as she felt herself unconsciously relax. Her breathing steadied as soon as she took a large breath, closing her eyes as she absorbed the peace and quiet all around her.

There was nothing holding her down before, anxiety, depression, heartbreak, stress-- it was all gone the moment her sight turned dark. She remembered now, the feeling of the sharp blade cutting through her skin, watching the blood pour out of her wrists focusedly as she felt her mind grow hazy, before slipping into an undying darkness.

The girl then opened her eyes, and the next thing she saw made her regret the decision she made. There he was, sat on the floor, eyes trained on her lifeless figure as he pulled her body closer to his chest. She could see the heartbreak and despair painted all over his face, and for a split second— she had forgotten about what he did.

She was standing over him, watching him breathlessly as he screamed and cried for her. Cradling her body-- holding her as if she was fragile. That was useless now, she was already broken-- and there was no way else to bring her back.

The sight of the man she loved looking so broken and vulnerable brought a heavy feeling on her chest. She couldn't understand— why? Why did she still feel all those things even after death? Even after the heartbreak, the hours of struggling to breathe, the countless tears she shed for him, why did she still care?

A thought haunted her as he tried to stop the bleeding from her wrist, even though they both knew it was too late. Why did he react that way? Why did he cry? After everything he put her through, why was it that he was allowed to break down, cry over her, begging her to come back? Love.

Love.

What a strange thing it is. According to the dictionary, it means an intense feeling of deep affection towards something or someone. But to me, that's not quite it. If you ever ask someone, what is love?