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you can always bleed a little more.
Tell me, Father, which to ask forgiveness for: what I am, or what I am not? Tell me, Mother, which should I regret: what I became, or what I didn't?
UNKNOWN.
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﹙ chapter fifteen, act one ﹚
eastern island, the arena. july, 70 att.
IN A SINGLE MOMENT, SOMETHING DELICATE SHATTERS. She can hear it quite clearly: a soft sound of shattering glass in the distance. Not at all loud or consuming the way she'd dreamed this would be. Instead her mind goes white, static, blank ─── she's seizing up and floating away, far away. She stands there, gasping for breath that won't come, until it all bursts into a throat-wrenching scream. No. This can't be happening.
