Wilted Petals

🌹°~Chapter 2~°🌹

~~
Dear Happy,

you meant a lot to me. Your little paws and you fluffy ears. I know you're Natsu's best friend, but you were mine too.

-Yours Truly, (Y/n)
~~

3 days

3 entire days

I've been cooped up in my dorm for 3 days.

3 days full of suffering

3 days full of misery

3 days full of agony

3 days of isolation

3 days of starvation

I wasn't even sure if I was alive at this point.

You know, I always thought that Hanahaki was just a myth. A fib to trick your kids into being careful of love, and to beware of its consequences. But this sure as hell didn't feel like a fucking myth.

Myths don't cause pain.
Myths don't cut of your oxygen.
Myths don't constrict your lungs.
Myths don't scare you into solitary confinement within your own walls.

This is a curse.

A curse that just happened to be bestowed upon me.

Now here I am.

Huddled on my bed, holding my knees to my chest as I sobbed into arms.
This is the truth about Hanahaki.
I know I shouldn't be surprised, but how can you not be? A children's tale that I once enjoyed and honored is now destroying my body inside-out.

Then in these stories they made the petals of your favorite flower seem to be beautiful and pure as they lightly fluttered into your palm.

Hell, they were wrong.
They were so so wrong.

These petals were anything, but pure.
Yellow and white chysanthemums were my favorite flower in all Fiore. They always looked so pure.
So innocent and delicately smooth to the touch. I remeber the very smell of them bringing a smile to my face.

But now?
Now.

I hated their existence.

My entire room has been littered with blood stained petals, making it look like a crime scene. The atmosphere of my room has been so cold and barren lately. It lacked life and the smell of thick, rusty metal and earth is incredibly overbearing to the point where I could taste it if my mouth happened to be open.

I had my curtains completely closed, yet small streams of light always seemed to seep through the spaces in between the blinds. It had made my usually bright room seem dead and airy.

In the middle of my room lie a bed. In the middle of that bed there was me, in my beautiful coughing, hacking, and choking glory. I had my nails deeply embedded into my neck as I subconsciously clawed at it in an attempt to distract myself from the pain that corrupted my on the inside, by inflicting it myself on the outside.