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nareul · 4 months
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𝐖𝐇𝐘 𝐃𝐎 𝐏𝐄𝐎𝐏𝐋𝐄 𝐋𝐎𝐕𝐄 𝐘𝐎𝐔?
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───BECAUSE YOU KEEP THEM GUESSING. you're a mysterious type. people can't quite figure you out, and they're drawn to you because they desperately want to. they can never tell if you're pulling them in or pushing them away. the games get tiring after a while, though. have you ever had someone stay? do you want them to?
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nareul · 10 months
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𝐖𝐇𝐈𝐂𝐇 𝐓𝐑𝐀𝐆𝐈𝐂 𝐃𝐄𝐀𝐓𝐇 𝐖𝐎𝐔𝐋𝐃 𝐘𝐎𝐔 𝐒𝐔𝐅𝐅𝐄𝐑
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───THE BETRAYAL. you die at the hands of the person you love most. maybe there are tears in their eyes as they drive the sword into your chest, maybe there is none. there are certainly tears in yours. your mouth will open to ask 'why' only to spit blood instead. you will die never knowing if they loved you at all, wondering if you could've done something to prevent this, or if it was always going to end this way.
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nareul · 10 months
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𝐖𝐇𝐘 𝐃𝐎 𝐘𝐎𝐔 𝐇𝐔𝐑𝐓?
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───YOU SWALLOW PAIN AND FOLD AROUND IT. you have always hurt. you hold it carefully, and twisted in such a way that other people don't have to see it. you don't choke on it. you don't drown. you just have it, the way some people have freckles, this is a thing that lives in your bones. you fold instead of fighting because you know how to make yourself small, tuck away the places where they have clawed at, swallow the bruises so you seem clean. nobody needs to see it. you will live through this on your own. you know what you need, and relief isn't it. this doesn't mean you cannot reach out - it means it is not in your nature to do so. you should. hiding does not mean you won't be seen.
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nareul · 10 months
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𝐖𝐇𝐀𝐓 𝐏𝐀𝐑𝐓 𝐎𝐅 𝐓𝐇𝐈𝐒 𝐇𝐀𝐔𝐍𝐓𝐄𝐃 𝐇𝐎𝐔𝐒𝐄 𝐀𝐑𝐄 𝐘𝐎𝐔?
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───THE NURSERY. dear god, there is so much more for you. time moves differently here; like it starts and stops and replays and rewinds. the days the days the days. they’re cyclical. they’re endless. the house doesn’t think you know, or rather, it won’t let you know. it is afraid knowledge will break you, so it sits you right in the middle of it all, four walls on every side. but you are not naive. you have been broken before. you are breakable and mendable and you have broken and mended. you wish to know more and, in turn, the house will grow around you like a shield of vines and ivy. it festers inside of you, this wanting, this need to be in control of your own narrative. it’s cyclical. it’s endless.
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