Deep In My Heart, I Hate. pv harlan

Gritting through clenched teeth, the golden haired inspected her limbs, relieved to find none of them missing or twisted at an odd angle. She was quite sure her ankle was sprained, and her left arm ached excruciatingly, for it was the only part of her that had tried to cushion her fall. Luckily the grass was devoid of any rocks, or she might have seriously hurt herself. Barbaric idiot. Cursing silently, then out loud, at the disappearing figure, she wiped the dust off her jeans before looking around for her lost belongings. Her leather bag was laying in the dirt, a sigh which made her heart clench. It was a gift from her father, an original vintage from the 90s, one which she loved dearly. Only her journal was left to recover, and then she could classify this disagreeable incident as closed. Her journal. Her journal ??

Spinning around several times, gazing at all directions, she felt panic rise through her chest as her eyes were unable to settle on the item. No no no no no. Biting her lower lip in an anxious motion, she swiftly turned around when she heard a faint thud on the ground. A boy had suddenly appeared behind her - a sudden and unexpected sight which caused a slight fright to the raven. Judging by the broom casually dangling in his hands, he was the ill-mannered flyer that had disrupted her peace a few seconds prior. Elena winced as a flash of white illuminated a corner of her vision, her headache throbbing harder than ever in her temples, making it difficult to align her thoughts. The mumbled words the stranger uttered got squished together and muffled behind a loud whistle in her ears, only hearing his last sentence. Tilting her head back up - why did everyone had to be taller than her ? - she glared back at him.

"Why, you'd be deaf in addition of having little to no manners ?" She hissed, not cowering before his failed attempt at intimidating her. Taking a step closer, and grunting as her sprained ankle touched the floor, she stopped before articulating slowly, "I said : 'Watch where you're going, you brainless moron'."

The boy facing her seemed barely a few years older than her, and the images that sparked her head while running a judgmental gaze on his figure were as disagreeable as his person. Sharp edges of broken glass, red neon signs and drunk fighters collapsing on a rainy, empty street. His hair was a sandy, caramel color and cut short ; his eyes were as cold as the far-north's glaciers, unmoving like the sharks she once saw in an aquarium. Drawn by the scent of blood, eager to dive their teeth deeper in the open wound. She definitely didn't even remotely liked this person, and every single one of her six senses confirmed her intuition. A fight was of no use to someone like him, as he thrived on it better than anyone else - and she clearly didn't have the time nor the energy to engage.

Still running her analysis, everything suddenly faded when she spotted a black leather-bounded volume in his hands. Her heart sank, and while she tried to convince herself he could very well be the type to own such a thing, her negotiations came to a halt when she spotted the silver letters engraved in the corner. No. Her journal, one of her most prized possession, something that must never ever fall in any other hands than hers, was in the ones of this gigantic troll. Whom seemed very well the type to blackmail, should he understand the importance of this notebook. "That's mine, by the way," she pointed out, voice as disinterested as possible. "I should like to have it back."

A quiet breeze carried hinted scents of blooming flowers, life finding its way back to earth as the peaceful haze of winter slowly faded, promises of a flourishing springtime floating through the air. Yet this peaceful atmosphere was without effect on the two raging soul circling each other in the middle of this eerie scene, fiery hearts yearning for but the flicker of a flame to set ablaze.

She could feel it, coursing through her veins as though lava had been trickling down her heart, invading every worn out organ she possessed. The weariness she carried with her had nested into her chest, rotten until it was stripped from its every attributs, save for one — anger. Her head was pulsing with a pain lingering on the unbearable, every last of her limbs felt heavier than before. Frustration, tiredness — all had accumulated to merge into a cardinal sin, one that weaved hateful words into the voice of mankind, nurtured loathing in their hearts. Wrath.

A feeling the lion facing her knew but too well, given the spark igniting in his eyes as honeyed venom slipped from the moonchild's lips. He moved as though he considered himself above her in the food chain, a predator honed by years of hunting, years of ripping flesh and tasting blood. Ha. Perhaps another raven would fleet facing such sharp canines, yet this one had a god-like rage coursing through her blood, and was not afraid of a mere size difference. Tilting her blonde head upward to lock storm-tossed eyes with fire-blazed ones, her expression showed nothing but a burning annoyance, threatening to flare at any second.

His words trailed off to her ears, as the world suddenly found itself devoid of any sound. Only her heart beat, loudly, deafening. A quickening pace that would have drawn a ravenous foam at the mouth of any carnivore standing nearby — fear. A devastating terror invading her every thought, shades of icy blue and indigo purple tainting the canva of her mind. No, no— Eyes dilated, she rushed forward, the fear quickly shifting into the anger she had been reluctantly trying to contain, now free of any limit. "Give that-" she spat, terror etched onto every inflexion of her voice, leaping to catch it but he easily evaded, "BACK!"

He opened it. No no no no no. He has no right. That diary is the only item keeping her from losing her mind. It contains every nightmare, every hallucination, ever little thing her sickened brain sends her, every plague following her into the pit of sleepless nights. Her breath quickened, attempting at prying her very heart from the claws of this feline devil once more, and failing. If anyone- if anyone were to read it, she might—

“December 19th, 2024.”
"Shut up."
“The same nightmare came back tonight.”
"SHUT UP."

He stepped back, and she followed, navy eyes fixated on her leather-bound soul being stripped bare, as bile and venom accumulated, turning her gaze from irritation to pure and unfiltered hatred, masking the fear lurking beneath. Her right hand tightly wrapped itself around the familiar curve of her wand, and she hissed, articulating every syllable. "Give. It. Back."