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━𝟮𝟬𝟭𝟵━ 𝗡𝗘𝗪𝗬𝗢𝗥𝗞, 𝗡𝗘𝗪𝗬𝗢𝗥𝗞 𝗚𝗢𝗥𝗘/𝗩𝗜𝗢𝗟𝗘𝗡𝗖𝗘 𝗪𝗔𝗥𝗡𝗜𝗡𝗚
━
The glare of lights is the second most vivid memory of Angel'schildhood.
Stage lights, make up mirrors, fucking paparazzi. She can't remember if she enjoyed it or feared it as a young child, she always tended to be a bit apathetic towards things.
Better that she didn't care, she supposes, for even if she had detested it there was nothing that could have been done. Her sister was a pop star, Vought's next shining star of idolatry, a fucking goddess in the making. Practically untouchable.
Practically.
The stench of blood and burnt flesh is the most vivid memory of Angel's childhood.
The feel of blood drying on her palms as she clutched her sister's dead body in her small arms. A charred scar running deep through her neck, blood seeping down her costume, onto the floor, onto Angel's hands as she screamed her name and tried helplessly to stop the bleeding.
By the time the doctors arrived it was too late, Scarlett was long dead. A cold body good for nothing but an autopsy room, or a nice oak coffin if Vought had their way and covered this up.
Angel had been so frozen in shock and trauma that they had to pull her off of her sister's corpse as they zipped her into a body bag and wheeled her away.
Scarlett had died eyes wide open, a terrified look etched permanently on her lifeless body. A look Angel would never forget, a ghost she would always have the burden of carrying with her.
She refused to speak for weeks after, practically starved herself until her mother begged her crying to eat something.
She had always been a stubborn child, some habits die hard.
A part ofher was buried out there somewhere, in some cemetery in California. Therapists told her parents their daughter would never be the same after what she had witnessed, and honestly fuck them for being right, for Angel could feel the distinct moment. The moment her life had been derailed, stolen, from what it was supposed to be.
The child therapists had been right about her, no matter how much those around her liked to pretend they hadn't. She knew the truth, that on that day something inside her died with Scarlett, something that had been rotting away all these years later.
━ |&| ━
Angel takes a drag of her cigarette as she looks at the moon-lit stone carved statue of The Seven. They had failed to yet replace Lamplighter's statue with Starlight, though that didn't take away from the narcissistic twisted sort of beauty of the display.
