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DENIAL IS A FICKLE THING. Not only does it cause a dense cloud to fog the mind, but it obscures certain truths that a person will refuse to utter; afraid tar will burn their tongue and acid will boil their brain.
And Florence Banks knew nothing better than denial.
Since childhood, even when she was warm and bright ━━ filled to the brim with sunny innocence ━━ denial still plagued her sweet words, like molten honey seeping from her glands and poisoning otherwise pleasant (and some not so pleasant) truths. Quickly fragile shoulders became brittle and then it was almost as if you could reach through and grasp onto her skeleton, oh her soft soft softskeleton. Denial infects the mind like a disease, starts off small but the longer you leave it and let it grow and corrupt and infest the rest of the body, it becomes stronger. Strong to the point of direct control over its host.
That is what denial does to a person. But of course a person in denial wouldn't know this would they... how could they? The fog is already too thick and now it's inescapable. They're trapped. Locked in a cage of their own thoughts until soon everything that comes from their mouth is a shattered piece of the truth ━━ other times it's almost as if the truth never existed.
That is a crystal description of Florence Banks.
A girl so tied up in her own fickle lies and burnt out thoughts, she doesn't even realise how far from the truth she is. There was a reason that Florence Banks wasn't in Gryffindor.
Bathing in the light of the full moon, Florence found herself stretched out upon the flat roof of someone's house. She wasn't really sure who's, only registering the smell of alcohol and the bleary lights before she decided to let herself in. Music vibrated dully in her ears as she watched from above as people milled about and made conversation. It all seemed very mundane. Through the haze of drink and half-smoked cigarettes, Florence heard faint words seeping through the mist, twisting and churning. She heard shouts of a mother and the equally raged filled shouts of a daughter. She heard the smashing of glass and the stomping of boots, the call of a distraught brother ━━ father not present.
Florence didn't really care about what she heard. Half of what she heard was lies or corrupted truth (discounting her own,) so Florence never truly believed a word anyone said. Because she knew better. She saw what people were like, that's why she instead tucked herself away. Away from the crowd, away from the action, away from the lies. But that was only sometimes. She didn't really care; she just wanted a good time. One in which she wouldn't be able to remember it the next morning. One in which she would stumble from bed and detail the new markings on her neck or her newly smudged makeup. Now Florence wasn't a slut, she considered herself classier than that (not that she ever had a problem with anyone if they did decide to be a slut.) However, that didn't stop her from indulging once in a while. It was all for the sake of having fun at the end of the day.
As she sat and sipped her drink, relishing in the bitter burning of the liquid sliding down her throat, Florence's mind (regrettably) drifted to school. Only for a split second though ━━ she never lets her mind dwell on topics longer than needed ━━ and school definitely didn't warrant more than a few seconds. Florence liked school enough. She liked the building and her house. She liked the lake and the paintings littering the grand walls. She liked her dorm-mates and her friends. She liked the secrets and the shadowed corners in which students would get high and make out until their mouths felt numb and their heads were floating. She liked the feeling of feeling nothing. The way her body rested upon clouds of grey smoke and black lungs. But she didn't want that right now. The numbness was a given and Florence relished in it but today she just wanted to forget.
Hooded eyes stared at the sky. She liked to imagine that she could see the millions of stars that she knew were hiding. But she couldn't. All she witnessed was navy and grey, merging and swirling together to create a deep darkness that cast a thick carpet over the once free stars. They're trapped. Hidden away. Florence liked the stars when they were like this. She could almost empathise with their screaming, just almost empathise with their agonising pain.
author's note ˖⋆࿐໋ ⋆ mmmm very aesthetic but the plot itself will actually pick up next chapter and you guys will meet a bit of a lighter florence with a more personal narrator,, (also do you guys like the new layout ?? and organisation 🤭🤭)
