"𝙽𝙸𝙲𝙾𝚃𝙸𝙽𝙴" - 𝙹𝙰𝙽𝙴 𝙱𝙸𝚁𝙺𝙸𝙽 𝗹𝘂𝘅 𝗹𝗶𝘀𝗯𝗼𝗻 was born to be adored, to be devoured, to be remembered only in the way 𝗱𝗲𝗮𝗱 𝗴𝗶𝗿𝗹𝘀 are; frozen in the minds of boys who never really knew her, who pressed their hands against the glass of her life and pretended they could touch her. she was fourteen with smudged lipstick, barefoot in the streetlights, drunk off stolen peach schnapps and the way boys said her name like a prayer. her sisters were ghosts before they were even gone, moving through the lisbon house like saints waiting for their martyrdom, wrapped in virgin white nightgowns, breathing in the slow decay of a childhood that didn't want them anymore. their mother clipped their wings before they ever had a chance to fly, and their father just watched, 𝗾𝘂𝗶𝗲𝘁 𝗮𝘀 𝘁𝗵𝗲 𝗺𝗼𝗼𝗻. lux loved in a way that burned; reckless and feverish, the kind that tasted like cherry cola. the kind that 𝗿𝘂𝗶𝗻𝗲𝗱 you. she kissed boys she never called back, lay in the backseat of cars with her heart pounding, whispered promises she never planned to keep. but at night she curled into herself, pressing her cheek against the cold windowpane, watching the world she wasn't allowed to touch. she had a smile like a loaded gun, but god. she was so, so 𝗹𝗼𝗻𝗲𝗹𝘆. this is how 𝘀𝗵𝗲 remembers it. how she wants it to be remembered. the summer she learned that love was just another way to 𝗱𝗶𝘀𝗮𝗽𝗽𝗲𝗮𝗿. ᥫ᭡ intentional lowercase © 𝘄𝗿𝗶𝘁𝗶𝗻𝗴 𝗯𝗲𝗹𝗼𝗻𝗴𝘀 𝘁𝗼 𝐦𝐨𝐫𝐞𝐭𝐞𝐞𝐧𝐚𝐧𝐠𝐬𝐭 ―୨୧⋆ ˚