Psychosocial | Jerome Valeska

07. I wear this crown of thorns

"You are the air, you are the sound
You're the fear that someday
it'll all come crashing out"

-ANIMA!, It's All Around

According to Violet, there was nothing better than the serene silence she held on to when she sat in the dark. No one could distract her and she could immerse herself in her thoughts without having to worry about anything. The darkness calmed her, allowing her to gain control of her emotions and her actions.

The hours Violet sat on her bathroom floor with the lights off and back pressed up against the door could be considered odd: she sat there without doing much of anything, eyes wide open, staring into nothing but the darkness that shrouded her. Violet attempted to cool herself down but for whatever reason, she couldn't. However, one realization she came to was the both Florence and herself overreacted. They created a conflict between each other that didn't need to be there

Even so, Violet's thoughts were becoming increasingly violent, her face was still hot with rage, and her hands shook uncontrollably. In her mind, she envisioned what it would be like to be free of her mother and free of the responsibility that kept her tied down in Gotham. Yet, along the premise of these thoughts, Violet saw red. The color smeared on her face, a wild grin spread across her lips. The color dowsing the off-white color of her mother's bedroom. The color splashing onto the ground, creating a large oblong shaped puddle.

Violet needed to stop thinking about the blood but she couldn't. She wanted more. Fitz wasn't enough to satisfy her craving, her subliminal desire demanded another. Nevertheless, if Violet allowed herself to, she would destroy herself, her morals, and her mind.

"No. I can't," Violet muttered to herself under her breath. The thoughts going through her head were the same as those from that morning. They were filled with the recollection of the murder of Fitz. Violet feared that once the police found the man's body still tied to his recliner, they would immediately know it has her doing. It was obvious since she was the one to go to the GCPD during the first few months after the deaths of her father and Olivia.

But she had to. Her mother was presumably packing and her brother was hanging out either in the kitchen or the TV room. The knife used on Fitz was stupidly still placed in the second drawer of her nightstand. The blood had been lazily cleaned from it.

But she couldn't.

But you can.

Violet banged the back of her head against the door, emitting a loud thump and the beginning of a dull ache. She wanted the voice to shut up. However, she was greeted by a vision of blood splattered across the wall of her mother's room, decorating a few family photos that remained with crimson. That was what would happen if she listened to the voice.

"You're just hurting yourself," a girl's voice said as the lights flicked on.

Violet's head perked up to see a girl standing a few feet in front of her. She had never been there before, heck, Violet had never seen her before in her life. The stranger had short black hair, light brown skin, and wore a short black dress that was probably worth more than Violet.