the girl with all of the choices

f i f t y

**TW: Suicide and Blood**

5531 words

august fifteenth-  limits

12 days.

I had only been one of them for 12 days. 

And I was already at my breaking point. 

I had seen so many dead bodies that I lost count.

I hadn't actually seen the deaths, though. That was always a relief.

I had only seen the Dark Lord once. That first day. When He basically told me if I mess up, He'll kill me. He hadn't been at any of the meetings since. 

I had a feeling I would be seeing Him again soon. 

Although, at this point, it wouldn't even surprise me if I saw him today.

I was numb. A complete and utter void of emotions. Well, that wasn't entirely true. 

I felt guilty. I hated myself. But those feelings just added to the numbness, somehow making me even number. I didn't know it was possible to be that senseless to the world.

However, the numbness in my head didn't translate to my arm. It was still very much alive and feeling. It burned all the time, constantly driving me to the point of ripping my own skin. 

I never liked blood, but it didn't bother me anymore.

My arm was now covered in scars. Any time it would burn, I would trudge my way up to my washroom and distract myself with a different type of pain. 

At least it wouldn't burn anymore. 

It had become addicting, almost. Any time the minor inconvenience of a burn would be felt, I would dash up the stairs and lock my door. 

It was the only constant. 

And I took comfort in that

At least now it was harder to see my mark. It was mangled. It felt appropriate. 

The Manor had somehow become darker and colder than ever before. I never thought in my entire life that that would be possible, but here I was, skulking around my own house for fear of seeing someone else. 

It was Mum who I was avoiding. 

I couldn't look in her eyes anymore. It broke me. They were always sad, always guilty. She blamed herself for letting this happen to me. Part of me blamed her too, but I really placed all the blame in Father's hands. 

He was the one who had to get involved with the Dark Lord in the first place. He was the one who originally wanted me to work for Him. He was the one who ruined our lives. 

I hated him for it. 

But not as much as I hated myself. 

I had shattered all of the mirrors in my room, just like I had in my dormitory back at school. I couldn't look at myself anymore. At least, not my whole self. The splintered glass offered a broken reflection. It still worked so I could do what I needed, but I would never see myself as a real person anymore.