trapped in an abandoned version of her home, eden blanchard finds two sources of comfort- intoxication... and harry bingham.
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mention of alcohol, mental illness, drugs, and abuse. this is a trigger warning. please do not read ahead if you'll be negatively affected.
chapter one
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"and you make jokes because you're afraid to take anything seriously. if you took it seriously, it'd matter."
_
We only ever see blue when the sun chooses to shine. In these moments of blue, there's a chance of being closer to healed than those who take comfort in the coldness of their void.
There was an unsteadiness to Eden. She looked at the world without fire in her eyes, as if they'd been frozen over with ice. The coldness brought unnerving darkness to her honey tinted eyes, drowning out any warmth her brown hair brought to her simple features. She hid a wealth of sorrow. How telling it was, that her beautiful appearance mimicked that of an animal in suffering. She stood on the brink of something indescribable. The weight of life pressed down on her shoulders, forcing an unspoken struggle. No one else seemed to notice the sad, broken look Eden saw swimming in the hazel eyes staring back through the mirror.
Wren felt nothing. Her eyes held a thousand hues of blue fathomed deep, lacking emotion, contrasting against the desperation present in her sister's. Smeared mascara lines and heavy eyelids were constant.
West Ham gradually dragged the Blanchard sisters down to hell one by one, sending them into a state of numb. They'd been birthed together, and now they'd begun to drown together.
