✮ Her head wished she had went on thinking he was an infuriating, overly-confident, horribly handsome asshole, that hated her people and always put himself first. Her heart knew he wasn't any of those things. He was a celestial; a man plucked from t...
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"The truth is rarely pure and never simple."
―Oscar Wilde
When Charlotte admitted to killing Wells, Astoria's body moved without thought.
She took the hatchet from Bellamy's waist and swung it against the rope that was tied to the tree, allowing Murphy to drop free. She ignored his coughs and gasps for air, instead turning to find Bellamy pulling Charlotte away from the teenagers with Clarke and Finn in tow. She quickly removed herself from the crowd to follow them.
They regrouped inside Bellamy's tent, crowding in a small circle in desperation to find any way out of the predicament the youngest put them in.
No one noticed Astoria being quiet as they spoke—she was always quiet as far as they knew—but, in truth, the girl was doing her best to prevent herself from vomiting.
Charlotte killed Wells. It explained why she wasn't able to look Astoria in the eyes since they found his body, but she couldn't put together why she would do it. She wanted to punch the girl, though obviously she would never allow herself to do that. She was just a child—just as Astoria had been when she was forced to run from her people for what she did. She didn't deserve whatever Murphy had planned, but when Astoria tried to picture herself having a friendly relationship with Charlotte in the future, she couldn't. She could only picture the girl putting a knife through Wells' neck.
"Why, Charlotte?" Bellamy questioned, the tension inside the tent growing as the youngest met eyes with the grounder for a moment.
She quickly looked away, the fear she felt towards Astoria the first night they spoke returning. "I was just trying to slay my demons," she defended, now only looking to Bellamy. Astoria narrowed her eyes, trying to understand what she was talking about. "Like you told me!"
"Ai mon," Astoria groaned, turning for a moment to face the wall of the tent. She released a deep breath, restraining from giving Bellamy a smack to the back of his head.
"What the hell is she talking about?" Clarke hissed as Bellamy looked between her and Finn, not daring to face the grounder.
He stuttered out his words, not knowing how he could defend himself. "She misunderstood me," he settled on, turning to the girl in question. "Charlotte, that is not what I meant."
"Bring the girl out now!" Murphy's voice boomed through the tent, making the group tense.
"Please don't let them hurt me," Charlotte begged, attention on the eldest man (who seemed to be the one with the most sympathy for her).
Bellamy turned to the rest of them, clearly annoyed that they weren't doing anything to really help. "If you guys have any bright ideas, speak up." The tent remained silent, and it obviously wasn't what he expected. He looked to Clarke, "Now you stay quiet?"
