Her world was sin.
But it's not like she could help it.
Bearing sunken eyes, hollow cheeks and a famished, tired body, all she could do was trudge on. She used to pray that she would be saved from her morbid fate, but it'd been a while since she had abandoned that hope. She proceeded to implore, that perhaps some miracle could come by and take her to the dreams she had as a young girl, blind to the sufferings that bound her to consciousness.
Of late, he observed, she begs for death.
She was exhausted. Every bit of her broken body pushed on, fighting the battle that her mind had already surrendered. She wondered why she lived physically, when it would truly be easier to separate mind from body, leaving behind the cuts and bruises.
But she was never one to run away.
He felt a bit sorry for her. She could not yet see the golden tendrils of hope caressing her future, should she choose to reach out for it. Because of this, he did not yet have the right to have her, and for that reason, he felt a bit sorry for himself as well-- for she really was beautiful.
He shook his head, ridding it of his selfish thoughts. He was justice. He was immovable. He was alone.
And that was the way things should remain.
