It felt, she thought, like a kiss. It would only be years later that she realised that it was the first parting of her spirit from her soul; everything he did from that moment on was by design a step in control and domination, a scheme of crushing and hollowing. Obvious now, but when you are in it, when you live it, well reality is always inescapable in the end isn’t it.
She would never be free, scars become a part of who you are, whether drawn on the flesh or carved across the heart. Yet away from him she could at least exert some control over her life once more. That control was the root of who she was at core, and from that core and from those roots she could draw the strength to navigate better the waters of her emotions even as they remained bruised and discoloured forever. After all how else does one reconcile the misleading reflections of your inner self against the brutalities of everyday experience?
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