The People with Useless Power

Chapter Fourteen

[Recently I've been thinking about giving up on this story. I know it's sudden, but it's been harder and harder to write knowing all these people from my actual life are reading my chapters. It makes it harder to face them, and makes the plot harder to form, because I'm afraid of what they think of me, or if they think it's bad.

So there's a simple solution.

I've decided not to give a crap about it.

I know I'm not the best writer. I'm bad at planning out stories, and in my first story, I totally lost the plot. But in this story, it's already planned out. I know what's going to happen. I know who's going to live, and I know who's going to die.

So here is my pure, uninfluenced writing.]

Mara traced the scars down Emma's arms and stared at herself in the mirror.

She had tried her best to look like herself again, but Emma's hair seemed to be resistant to combing and only looked perfect with a gallon of hair gel. But her hair was the least upsetting part of the transformation.

Mara stuck out her tongue and stared, once again, at the black line across it, where she had forced Emma's mother to cut it out. Shame was still burning a hole in her from when she first discovered it, and Mara made a mental note to thank Grayson for his healing abilities.

That scar wasn't alone. There were many running across Emma's wrists, some dark brown against her tan skin, and some still red and pink. Mara had also discovered a curse cut into Emma's back just the day before.

She had never imagined Emma having so many scars. Then again, Emma never told her anything about her life.

Mara felt a sharp pull, a sharp longing, and with nausea she realized something.

...

Emma stared at Mara's face, free of makeup. In one week, she was looking healthier, just because Emma was sleeping. But she remembered the first night, and how the circles under her eyes made her thin face look like a skull.

Mara's hair was thin, and always stayed perfect, even when Emma woke up. And she was always so cold. Emma had to turn the heating up in Mara's room to 94° Celsius, which only felt like room temperature.

They switched rooms because of clothing sizes. Emma regretted it.

There were few scars on Mara's pale skin, but Emma had found her diary in her room, and her life was... horrible.

Emma stood and searched for it again.

The entries started back when Mara was 4. She was already writing entries in cursive, so Emma had to squint to read it, despite Mara's perfect vision, but she could clearly tell that every year got worse for her.

She had gotten the diary as a gift from her mother. Emma frequently found herself gazing at the cover: it was leather, soft leather, but in the middle was a baby picture of Mara blowing bubbles, her eyes shining and full of life. Mara wrote that her mother rarely gave her anything at all, and only spoke to her about 'potential mates', when 4 year-old Mara only wanted to focus on her career. Her father never spoke to her at all, and was out all the time, "at bars and clubs," as she had written.

When Mara was five, her mother became ill. Critically ill. Mara wrote that she was extremely worried, and having panic attacks every night, but her father had started to stay home and talk to her more. They mostly argued, though, and he began to... hit her.

When she started to wake him up because of the panic attacks, he gave her a 'special medicine'. After one dose, she woke up feeling empty, not worried. Mara wrote that the only way to feel something was to feel something strong, like hatred. At least, that was what she told herself.