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『 chapter xxx: THE THIRD GIRL. 』
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THERE'S A GIRL, ONLY SIXTEEN YEARS IN AGE. She has strange bruises littering her arms and other places on her body that aren't visible, hidden by various pieces of clothing and sweaters. On her feet are muddy sneakers, the laces tied twice in lazy bows that fall to either side of the shoe. Her wrists are covered with thick bracelets and various hair ties to hide the purple and painful bruises that make their home on her skin. Everyone in the small cottage home notices her eyes before anything else. Her eyes sparkled like storm clouds right before lightning hit as she takes in her surroundings, as she lays those eyes on the people that stand before her; it's as if there's a blizzard eternally raging on in the black void of her pupils, the color surrounding it are clouds of ice and water, every speck an incandescent white-blue. A shade not even a talented artist such as Vincent Van Gogh could create, it's not even a shade of blue that he could feel. The sixteen year old girls irises threatened floods and fury while her black void pupils dilated in wonder, thick eyelashes catching the raindrops that fell from the sky. Her irises never catch the light that emits from the bulbs, but defy it, and they're so, so blue that they literally glow with melancholy — but there's an occasion that the girl smiles.
The girl smiles as she sees her grandmother, the harbinger of her death. She smiles at her cousin, the breaker of all the promises he's ever made. She smiles to her boyfriends father, who reveres his sons imprint as a treasure more than a person. She smiles because it'll all be over soon.
"June," Jacob beckons her, wary and obviously aware that she knew about him imprinting on her.
The girls name, Juniper, has been spoken almost a half of a million times in her life. But it's never been spoken in the devout way her boyfriend — soulmate — says it. It's the way that people speak of their gods, beloved and faithful and tender, like a caress. All June can think about is what her dead ancestor used to say: this must be a mistake, he can't be my forever, he can't, he needs someone else, someone who's gonna live for a long time—She can't meet his gaze for too long because she's afraid he'll see right through her, he always seems to. As if he knows she's discontent, he keeps looking at her every few seconds to see some life take form on the stoic facade she pulled on.
