✧ ཻུ۪۪. love is the most beautiful of dreams ,
and the worst of nightmares . . .
in which the quiet sister of lizzie and mika learns that to love deeply is to ache - that hurt is part of the package, and the beauty...
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ELLA FELT LIKE A FRAUD.
Ella was many things — an elder sister, rather quiet, and perhaps she would note an observer — yet, never such an embarrassing thing like a fraud.
Following an encounter she found quick to bury within the back of her mind, the girl was absolutely disgusted by the sensation that itched at her skin. A horrendous conundrum that she decided was to be blamed upon her recent upgrade in the clothing department. Fabric of a supposed loved one, an individual never known by herself, that was gifted to her, however without the perpetrators consent. For the mother of Carl Grimes would never be aware that the clothing that once lined her bones would now be bestowed to a young woman who hadn't even known her own name.
It was certain that Carl contained a unique distaste for the girl, most especially after the incident that involved shattered glass along with the pitiful attempt of her stuttered apology. Yet, it seemed after that event of grief, all Ella could focus on was the clothes that lined her guilty skin. It was intended as a tribute of welcome to their family, however its image was now dwindled to nothing more than a physical depiction of the twist within her gut, a knot that only tightened as the days continued on without her say on the matter.
Evidently, Ella was left with no other choice than to misplace those particular clothing items, conveniently outside of the cell she knew to belong to Carl Grimes.
That scenario, without any falter, was temporarily glued to her train of thought, as their lives continued onward. While Ella remained stable on the outside, within, her insides churned in anticipation towards any sort of consequences of her sin. A guilty act that left her with a major decline in any fabric to call her own, and a pair of jeans scarred from the fall that gifted her skin with a rather pickable scab. The very event that, in the grand scheme of all things considered, was hardly relevant to their lives. Only, to her, it was the climax that she dreaded, staining her brain with three distinct images — that of a photographed family coated in glass, the very fabric she detested, and the distorted expression of the boy she had yet to properly understand.
