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1,240 Painted Heart 11/20Nellitha
The despicable part of being a sociopath who prefers something in a sadistic medium, is that when a crime is committed, the investigating authorities will always suspect you first.
Your defense, however logical, is invalid to them, because clearly your lack of emotional capacity means that you must have felt compelled to kill another human being.
It obviously couldn't have been anyone other than me.
I mean, I wasn't denying that I killed those two idiots, but considering the way the police practically dove on the opportunity to convict me as a murderer, proves that I had justifiable cause to do such a criminal act.
Of course, the pivotal part of every investigation - the determing factor - is always evidence.
They had it.
They turned their eyes on me at first, and I was fine with that. No matter. I knew what I had done, and there was no denying it...to myself. I wasn't willingly going to throw myself at the jaws of the law. I felt that what I had done was perf
1,741 Painted Heart 11/163rd POV
Fort Hope was not ready for the budding friendship of Heart Williams and Nellitha Gaelic. Both girls respectively had intermittent psychological flaws that weren't likely to be missed by their peers. Heart, while at first seeming to be a very average, very plain young girl, had the temper of a vengeful spirit, and Nellitha was eccentric and regularly ignored the rules of society in lieu of her creative urges.
Fort Hope consisted of several courts - The Moonlight Court & Dormitory, The Sunset Court and Dormitory, and the Sunlight Court and Dormitory. It was a type of small college which opened it doors only to women. Heart resided in the Sunlit Court, and Nellitha was a Moonlight resident. They could often be found invading eachother's spaces, chatting frugally about art or the latest happenings.
When Heart nearly killed her ex-friend Caroline, she got off by the skin of her teeth. Money readily provided by her
3,157 Painted Heart 11/14Nellitha wasn't easy to pin down.
I couldn't tell you her favorite color, her mother's name, or the year she was born.
You could ask her, but she would either ignore you, if she didn't like you, or answer you with a bold-faced lie, if she did.
From her best friend, me, Nellie derived a twisted form of entertainment when these questions were asked.
"Nellie, how old are you?"
"What is the approximate age of the sun in the sky?"
"Quite a bit older than you, I think," I said while rolling my eyes. "Really, Nellie."
"How old are you, Heart?"
"I'm a bit older and a bit younger."
"That doesn't make sense, Nellitha."
These were our conversations.
It was on a rainy day that I remembered what had brought me to Fort Hope in the first place.
I was standing in the center of the Sunset Courtyard with blood dripping from my ears, my mouth, my hands. It was smeared across my t-shirt, across my left pant leg, and across the twisted figure laying on the ground before me.
4,022 Painted Heart 11/13NANOWRIMO: NOVEMBER 2012
Fort Hope School for Young Women, my new home, would never amount to my expectations.
It would excel them in the most unimagineable ways.
I didn't know that when I first stepped foot into the white-bricked halls of the high class institution, nor when I left, two years later, standing strong at the side of a friend who easily outshined me in every way and whose friendship I didn't feel I could ever properly deserve.
It was mid-August when I came to live at Fort Hope: cool, always overcast, and rainy on most afternoons. I was sorted into a three-story dormitory with one elevator that first term students weren't permitted to use. As is to be expected of the universe and her fickle nature, the room that I was assigned was on the third floor, where I carted and carried my few belongings and got them situated in little under three hours.
My roommate, whom I met almost immediately, wa
I Belong To You I hate rain. Not really, I love it. Just not when the most beautiful, perfect, wonderful, perfect, comfortable, waterproof, perfect coat in existence has been savagely butchered by my so-called friend’s Dalmatian. Every slap of rain on my naked arms is a stinging reminder of the irreparable hole in my wardrobe.
Some people might try to fill the void with lesser coats but I can’t bring myself to betray Valentino, even after her death. Instead my slippery arms grapple with each other in wet shock as I stumble to the op shop, clinging to one last thread of hope. I know in my deadened heart that I’ll never have another coat like her. Yet here I am, blundering through the elements in my vain search for the acceptance and warmth I found wrapped in Valentino’s woollen sleeves.
Thud. My body slams into the door, making the ‘open’ sign quiver and the bells tinkle in offense. I fight for entry, the door’s assault doubled by the stale funk of
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^Nyx-Valentine arrived in our community and started whipping everyone into a frenzy with her relentless desire to bring the Artistic Nude and Fetish galleries to the fore. 9 years later, and it's safe to say that Nyx is not only a leader as a photographer in these galleries, but she has also established herself as a much saught after model. ^... Read More