// loveless [#WATTYS2017]

chapter i - the hollow world.

((Daffodil Roberts))
The afternoon was gloomy and foggy, and the girl pulled the collar of her shirt up to shield herself from the drab weather. Around her were eyes, staring, watching her movements warily as if she was a criminal. She was, but not in the way people thought when the word was mentioned. In a mad world that did not know even the meaning of the word, the awareness of such an emotion would be qualified as the worst crime possible - giving those who loved an immediate death sentence.

But she didn't get the same punishment. She was an exception; the only one. She had powers. Special ones. Ones that kept her from death. And maybe people wouldn't have cared about her if she didn't have these powers. They would have just continued on with their colorless lives, because then she would be dead. But maybe she didn't care what they think. None of them dared to approach her anyway, as her face was always masked with a beautifully intimidating expression.

Oak-colored eyes closed slightly as she took a breath and softly exhaled. Silky chocolate hair flitted lightly as the cool wind blew them into disarray. It wasn't winter – close, yes, but not yet, and the wind still had that scent of old leaves, nostalgic and mesmerizing. Daffodil Roberts loved autumn, and in that moment, she was glad that no one could read her mind. In the world she so desperately wished she didn't live in, people hated love. Most of them.

Her hand briefly combed through her hair, trying to get it back in place. Out of the corner of her eyes, she saw children coming home from school, taking their lonely and aimless strolls on the sidewalk. A small puff of air escaped her parted lips. It was as if she was standing in the land of the colorblind. Daffodil's hands were in her jacket pockets now. Her fists clenched. To help them see color would be so easy, yet so unfeasible. She wanted to help, but if she did, none of them would see the next day's light again. Staring at the ground, she sighed one more time.

The vegetable shop was a small place at the end of the street. It was like one of those typical shops she saw in old movies. Telltale wooden crates and the green of fresh goods were slightly hidden behind the chalkboard standing in front of the nearby café. Money in hand, Daffodil pushed open the door to the shop. The small bell on the top of the entrance rang out in a happy jingle, though no one would be able to tell that out but her. The owner looked up from the coins laid out on the countertop. Experienced eyes met with the customer's face, the familiarity keeping him from the wariness. The old man kept staring at her as she strolled around the shop, picking out the freshest carrots from what was left after the housewives' visits before lunch. Criminal or not, the girl was attractive; charming at the least. The way her face was highlighted in the sunlight was, in an odd way, captivating. It kept people looking, trapping them, and leaving them defenseless.

An armful of carrots was laid down on the scale on the counter. The old man glanced at the number, then input it to a calculator hidden from the view of the girl. It took a while for him to remember the set price of the carrots. The fierce look Daffodil always wore on her face put him under pressure no matter how familiar he was with the customer.

"Six pounds twenty." He said finally, gazing off into space while the girl took out her money. The purchase was completed, and the carrots were wrapped neatly and put inside one of the large paper bags.

Daffodil clutched the bag to her chest and walked out into the grey streets of London, leaving behind another unrecognized happy jingle.

The land of the exiled was, surprisingly, brighter than the rest of the gloomy city. It was kept far away in a dead field, surrounded by a ten-meter wall, shielded from the rest of the world, for it was the only place left where love existed. Brushing a few strands of hair out of her eyes, Daffodil opened the tightly-sealed door to her home, dying to escape the fog of London.