Violet rarely speaks, so when you find yourself hearing her voice, you either cherish it or start running.
Being a selective mute who's power is to disappear, Violet Hargreeves hasn't aged ever since Five's powers kicked back at her for trying to st...
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REWRITTEN.
There was a little girl with dark hair watching her. Oil black lashes over coffee brown eyes and sweet dimples.
Her dress made of flowers, her yellow bike the only light anywhere.
Violet was not in pain.
The relief was familiar, but the longing was dangerous.
The girl watched her with sad eyes as she wrapped her arms around herself and looked around.
It was still autumn. Copper leaves beneath her feet, crunching under her shoes. Falling gently around them.
Like last time, she thought numbly to herself.
But otherwise, time was still.
"Again?"
The girl finally spoke.
Violet opened her mouth to say something but the words died, like always, in her throat.
Ashamed almost, she frowned and looked down.
"You're lucky I like you." The girl mused, beginning to pedal slowly. She wound around Violet in a circle, watching her as she shifted uneasily under her powerful gaze. "You don't beg and cry and ask questions like everyone else."
Violet felt the warmth drain from her slowly and shivered, holding herself tighter.
The bell dinged on the handlebars.
"The quiet is nice."
The first thing Violet was concious of was the familiar cold chilling her body to the core.
Then, weighed down by her own limbs, trying to tear her eyelids open, she inhaled a shaky breath that rushed into her lungs and coughed, grimacing at the crackling sound within her chest.
The spot where the bullet pierced her heart burned like someone was holding a fire poker to it, pressing down so her breaths grated against her lungs, crackling through her throat.
Her head swam.
Violet tried to swallow the dryness in her mouth but froze from the sharp pain that reminded her of her injuries. She was alone in the dark medical room. No light. No machines. Everything was switched off.
A thin white sheet had been laid over her body. Spots of it blossomed old blood.
She was left in silence, listening to her own harsh, laboured breathing, staring up at the pitch black ceiling trying to gather her thoughts.
But she was breathing.
Klaus... Diego... Five. Tears filled her eyes.
Her throat burned and she barely managed to lean over the edge of the bed she was on before vomiting up whatever was in her stomach, retching and coughing.
