For She Is Wrath

A history of women and girls being wronged by men who never had any consequences. Now I would be the consequences. “I choose vengeance. I choose death. And in the end, that’s what you chose too.

And what was freedom worth if I still felt imprisoned?

For the same reason I haven't been able to sleep properly for the past year. Because when I dream, it's always of you. When I fight, it's your voice in the back of my skull.

Maz’s betrayal that was a festering raw wound of hurt spreading to everything else.

The ones closest to you will betray you the most.

I had a renewed motivation, a hope that I didn’t expect alive in my chest. With every new inch of earth dug I moved closer to the possibility.

Now excuse me while I go throw myself off your balcony.

It isn’t easy admitting my weakness.” “And is he one?” “A weakness?” She rolls her eyes. “No, a fat mango. Yes, a weakness.

I’d follow you anywhere.

Or perhaps I needn’t have done anything. Perhaps he always had the capacity to do this to me, and I was too in love with him to see it.

If I was going to get caught I might as well do it with the taste of chai on my lips.

I hadn’t quite grappled with the depths of that betrayal, and with the fact that in my dark moments my treacherous mind still thought back to those memories when I needed comfort. As if I still had capacity to yearn for someone who wasn’t there to begin with.

I was the rat, burrowing out of the trap, coming to rip out my captors' throats.

An unfamiliar kinship tugged at my heart, recognizing the shared emotion. We were more than just two escapees, we were two daughters, two people who had been wronged, two people trying to get back to what we once had, though we probably never would. This place had stolen years of our lives, and we wouldn't get the chance to live those again.

If I didn’t know better, I would say it was sadness. Good. He should be fucking sad.