@Framing A Moose@Demonic AngelOnce the two were gone, it was as if the weight of the entire world was lifted from her burdened shoulders. Evelyn heaved a sigh of relief, relief that she didn't tap even deeper into that side desperately she wanted to bury. She hated it. If it was a person, flesh and blood, standing right in front of her, she'd punch her fist straight through its chest and rip out its blackened, corrupted heart, crushing it in her hand till it bled all over her sharp fingers.
I will never be like him... I hate him! And I'll keep hating him till the day I drag him back into Hell!Her fists were clenched at her sides, knuckles burning with her unkempt fury threatening to break free....the true Evelyn. No...that wasn't her. That was the monster
they created, the beast they formed to be their foray into chaos and bloodshed, eternal torment. No...no matter how much her mother screamed at her, no matter how much her father hit her, burned her, scarred her flesh forever....she would never be like them. She would never be the villain. The sound of people around her, so cheerful and full of laughter, so unnerving that it made her cringe. Evelyn would have gone to class, but she didn't care about that right now. She needed to escape.
The dorm hall was but a short walk from the gymnasium, a crossover through the perfectly manicured lawns and pathways of the school campus towards the oblong shaped building. If memory served her right she would be bunking in room 349, but....who else was bunking there? Hopefully no one, and that's how Evelyn would have it. She hated being around people, so the thought of having to be stuck with someone the whole damn night....was just sickening to her.
She finally made it after climbing the stairs, staggering with a sigh. Slowly she opened the door, revealing to herself the quaint, simplistic room, two beds on either side, a few shelves and one dresser with a mirror. Well, at least there was a place to keep her books, Evelyn mused.
She decided the bed next to the window would be hers, falling into it on her back...gazing headlong at the stark white ceiling above...and slipping in her earbuds before setting her music player to shuffle through her playlist, a specially selected menagerie of all things hard rock and heavy metal. It just so turned out the first song that would be playing, much to Evelyn's....dismay....was Five Finger Death Punch's
Coming Down. Not that it was a bad song. It was just....what it reminded Evelyn of....
Right as Ivan Moody's vocals, ghostly and enigmatic, overtook the somber tone of the guitar, Evelyn stood and looked at herself in the mirror. Her hands, as if in a trance, reached for the hem of her shirt, and pulled it off of her, leaving her with just her black bra....and all the scars and cuts across her chest, her abdomen, and her back. Tenderly, she traced the jagged contours of flesh with her fingertip, wincing slightly....as though she was feeling that horrible....horrible pain yet again. This was how some fathers treated their daughters....and some mothers, right? Every claw swiping, every sword slashing, every lightning bolt and fireball blazing, searing her porcelain flesh into ugly black and red blemishes, the pain that encompassed every inch of her and left her screaming in tormented sobs.
"You're weak, Evelyn." Her father's wretched, authoritative voice would boom like thunder in the distant black clouds, his eyes narrowed with discontent towards the whimpering whelp of a girl cowering before him, blood, fresh and viscous pouring from her newly opened wounds, her clothes torn and tattered.
"You are at ripe age to take my throne, and yet here you sulk at my feet like a worthless puppy. Pathetic!"~"Mmmm it is indeed, my love."~ Her mother would chime in, salt to be poured and rubbed raw into those very wounds.
~"In fact, I don't see why we keep this pitiful excuse of a daughter around. We should just throw her to the fire and be done with her. There's no way she'll become a worthy successor to your throne, Lord Chernabog."~"She will, Lady Mal." Chernabog snarled, his fangs peeking over his dry and calloused lips. Suddenly, his massive claw wrapped around her frail neck, lifting Evelyn into the air with nary a flinch of his rippling, hard muscles, all while she kicked and writhed, barely able to breathe. Then....he pulled her close to him, so that his eyes, like the very fires of Hell itself...was burning through her skull, were piercing into her eyes, eyes that were so full of terror towards the gargantuan behemoth...and his heinous smirk,
"Her life depends on it."Evelyn's own hands suddenly reached for her neck, tumultuous, ragged breaths ravaging her lungs and her throat with an irritable heat, believing that the hands of her father were choking the life out of her once more. She screamed, every ounce of her rage pouring out into one fist that collided with the mirror in a violent crash. She hated them....but most of all.... she hated herself.
Shards of broken mirror were buried deep in her flesh, trickles of blood dyeing her pale skin a shade of red. So many cuts, so much pain....but so numb she felt to it all.
