Cigarettes, lilac skies and poetry at 3am: sixteen-year-old Pietro ''Pit'' Rossi knows the adrenaline of feeling empty and infinite at the same time. With the reputation of a goofy idiot who doesn't care about anything at all, getting held back at school doesn't seem like a problem. But it is. Because Pit cares about everything, and he always cares too much. [[word count: 70,000-80,000 words]]

"You know what I think?" Harry leaned across the table. "I think you're afraid. You don't take risks like us Gryffindors." He scoffed. "Please, you Gryffindors are all wand-waving and no spell." Harry grinned, settling back into his seat. "Not me. I always follow through." "Prove it." Harry stood up and walked around the table. He leaned over Draco, one hand no his chair and the other on the table. Their faces were a mere inch apart, so close that Draco could see flecks of brown in his emerald eyes. "I don't see any follow-through," Draco taunted. And then Harry kissed him. Harry's hands fell to his shoulders so quickly that Draco teetered on his seat. Draco reached up and grabbed Harry's shirt in an attempt to catch his balance which resulted in the two boys falling to the ground with Harry on top. Harry's cheeks were red with embarrassment as he tried to get up. All he managed to do was knee Draco in the leg. Draco put his hands on Harry's hips. "Stop. Let me." In one fluid motion, Draco flipped them around so he was kneeling above Harry. "And for future reference," Draco smirked, bringing his lips down to brush against his. "I'm always on top."

She was the type to stare herself in the mirror and see someone else stare back. Someone who was free and light, being able to spread her wings like an unbound angel. She was neither chained to Heaven nor Hell. Howbeit, no matter how far she reached into the mirror, she could never step through as her ball-and-chain presented itself in the form of a crown. She was a princess with two faces, desperately trying to have a sense of freedom outside of her royal obligations. She found it in the form of a weakness: a passion with another human being. Her love for him and ballet had kept her chin high; her crown not slipping from her pastel hair. So why, why did it suddenly become so hard when a gothic gymnastic back-flipped into her life? Why were her heartstrings being tugged on by someone of her same gender? Why was it suddenly so difficult, so strenuous to keep living in her pastel world when this mysterious girl brought such bright colours with her? TRIGGER WARNING: Mentions of sex, suicide and other mature themes will be contained within this book. Read at your own discretion.

Some say you hear a beautiful song Some say you hear an enchanting humming Some say you hear the most beautiful voice in the world Some say you hear the most beautiful sound in the world But , only those who survived lived to tell the tale but the question is CAN YOU SURVIVE? I don't own the picture Credits to the owner of the picture