Stifled.
She was being stifled.
No air.
She couldn't breathe.
Suffocating.
She was suffocating.
And no one noticed.
What was the price of infamy?
She knew it well.
The price was life.
All hopes for love, trust, family, future....
Gone.
No Hope.
Dead Hope.
The thought choked her.
Clamped her throat tight.
Dead Hope.
Sure; the titles and intimidation were fun.
But it wasn't real.
It was like a bow sinched around her waist extremely tight...
and it kept getting tighter.
Dead Hope.
Pressure on her ribs and spine.
If it wasn't cut away soon it would snap her bones.
Kill her.
Dead Hope.
All hope of release, however, is long gone.
Death is the only future seen and saught.
Not caring whether she lived...but certainly not wanting to die
prematurely.
Half existance.
Dead Hope.
Yet the dramatta lives on.
All seeing the evil instead of the good.
Thriving against dead hopes...laying with them long after they've turned
to dust.
Dead Hope.
And the bow grows tighter.
Unlike it's prisoner, it will not break.
It's only weakness is hope.
Dead Hope.
There's a light at the end of the tunnel.
All you have to do is turn around...