pixiedemetria
It began with a story. Or perhaps, it began with a lie. It's hard to tell where one ended and the other began.
The story was of him.
He was my best friend's elder brother, a legendary creature I'd never actually met. In the quiet, stifling halls of our all-girls boarding school, he was the only boy who felt real.
My bestie was the narrator, and I was the dedicated audience, memorizing every detail. I knew of him, in the way you know the protagonist of your favorite book.
I'd fallen for the myth.
Years passed. The phantom crush faded, packed away like an old yearbook. At least, that's what I told myself.
I was wrong.
When he reappeared, he crashed into my life like a sudden, violent Nor'wester, tearing down every barrier I'd spent years building. This time, he didn't just pass by, he saw me.
But it was all built on a lie. A stupid, desperate, catastrophic lie that started it all.
But God, it felt right. It felt inevitable. We built something beautiful and fragile on poisoned ground. But that's the problem, isn't it? Poisoned ground never yields anything that lasts.
This was the price for the game we played, and the payment was inevitable.
⠄⠂⋆ ・ ⠄⠂⋆ ・ ⠄⋆。゚☁︎。⋆。 ゚☾ ゚。⋆⠄・ ⋆ ・ ⠄⠂⋆ ・ ⠄
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