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Nora sat in the dimly lit room, her back pressed against the cold wall, knees pulled tight against her chest. The darkness felt like a shroud that was trying to swallow her whole. But it was nothing compared to the void that had been formed inside her. Her tears had long since dried, leaving her skin tight and raw, her eyes burning from the endless hours of crying.
She had destroyed him. She had destroyed everything.
The utter devastation on Tony's face flashed in front of her–his eyes, that always used to look at her like she was his everything, filled with love and adoration she knew she never deserved were then looking at her like she had crushed his soul. It had been etched into her soul, the wound bleeding with every breath she took.
She could still hear his voice–laced with coldness, bitterness and venom that she knew she deserved.
And yet she couldn't bring herself to look away from the photo that hung at her bedside, clicked on the day of her birthday. With Tony looking at her like she was the only one he can see, and her lips grazed by a bright smile.
Her hand found the cold stone that pressed against her neck, holding onto the sapphire like it was the only thing keeping her from falling into pieces.
God, what had she done?
Why did the universe in all its cruelty make her the person that had snatched away everything from him?
All while, snatching away everything from her too.
Every minute that passed since Tony walked away felt like an eternity. She could barely breathe, her chest tightening with each second that ticked by. She wanted to scream, to beg, to plead for a chance to undo it all.
Would he ever forgive her?
She doubted that, how could he? When she had killed his mother. His mother, the woman who had nurtured him, who had shown him love, the woman who he mourned every day silently– and she had been the one who had taken her away from him.
A fresh wave of nausea rolled through her at the thought, and she leaned her head against her knees, shaking uncontrollably. She wanted to disappear, to dissolve into nothingness, because how could she continue to exist knowing she had caused him that kind of pain?
She shrink into herself even more, when the thought of her own family came back to her. How her mother would gently guide her hands and teach her how to use her powers, how her father calloused hands would gently brush back her hair when he would kiss her forehead at night. How her sister would hold her finger while she played with her toys.
She pressed her hands against her eyes feeling more tears pilling up. God, she had forgotten them for twenty years, but now every wound felt like it was too raw.
She wanted them by her side, wanted her mother to guide her, to tell her that everything would be alright. She wanted to see her father, for him to tell her that he loves her, that her hands that are tainted by more darkness than she ever imagined are still capable of being loved. She wanted Zenovia to look at her with her innocent eyes and ask her to play with her like nothing was wrong.
