Depending on how you receive the information, one can perceive a book in a completely different light than someone else. Who is truly a hero or the villain? There are never clear cut answers to that question. So I will leave it up to you; moreover...
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Bright ocean blue eyes snap open as a heavy gasp breaks the silence of the night. A young girl's body flings forward in the midst of light purple comforters and blankets as she slams her head in between knees trying to take in a control breath. Her hands shoots out from underneath her sheets and grips the fabric in her fingers tightly, her knuckles beginning to turn white from the pressure.
You will be the storm, my child
His voice disrupts her concentration as she attempted to practice the breathing technique given to her by some mandated therapist who had no idea what she had really gone through. The young girl shoots her head across the room, looking in all directions for the source of the voice. The fingers that once had a firm and strong grip of the blankets now shook in fear. She truly believed that he had found her. However, she was only met back with the empty white walls of her room except a single poster of a man. The words limited edition were written on the bottom of the sign.
The man was slender and pretty pale to the human eye. His messy shoulder length black hair matched his serious face as there was a tight line where a smile should be. He looked exhausted in the picture as if he had no idea that his photo was going to be taken but the magazine company would not let him utilize his golden google to cover his face as they had to fall around his neck. In his hands was the plain and mundane scarf that was a newer addition, at the time, to his costume. This man was a hero, believe it or not to his tiresome appearance, and he was the only one that made it up onto the girl's plain wall. Eraserhead was printed at the top.
The white haired teenager shook her head back and forth as she realized that the voice was just a memory, a nightmare that is sown into her skin and thoughts. She was here in her makeshift room and the man that caused this terror was no where to be found. She was saved from her hell and he disappeared into the night. She was in the protection of countless heroes and there was no way in hell that he could get by all of them to her. She was safe here; however, why didn't she feel like that?
She groaned out loud as she came to the realization that she would not be able to fall asleep even if she tried. No, this was her regular occurrence. Looking over at the clock, she let out a laugh knowing that it was around 3:00 am. It was as if her body was now accustomed to having nightmares at the same time every single morning.
Pulling the rest of the blankets off her body, Persephone Direwood placed her two feet on the ground and began to walk out of her room. She open up her door and was met with a dark hallway; there were no paintings on the walls or vases to decorate the hallways. However, a single light shined in a room at the end of it. It was dim and barely on but it pulled her towards it. She rubbed her eyes as the light blinded her for a second.
