A foul-tasting wind blew though the street, burning her eyes. She knew she was alone; she finally accepted that fact. No pseudo-family could blackmail allegiance anymore. Those that wore the grey-dinged armbands of DNA no longer had a hold on her life. She was free. It took a decade in the trenches to realize this. The enemy that surged forth was her very own bloodline; the ones that crushed her were her kin. The one who slapped her fair skin until redness dawned was Brother. He that mocked her pain and continued the torture was Father. And the one who offered a white flag and then shot her point blank was Mother.
As the acrid sting passed, there was clearer air. She gulped it in. For the first time, it did not sting. The decaying city-state still surrounded her, but she dragged herself upright, quickened by the release from bondage. Sunlight. No more guilt, no more loyalty. For what? To be slapped again? She had remarked in the suffocating cell below that she had no family. The unfeeling reply of "Make your own" made her choke on her own vulnerability.
She was done. Why waste the effort on the dead? Why waste the effort on the hateful living? She left them unburied, for they had already built their own tombs. The Drunkard, who sliced opened hearts with words. The Narcissist, who thought only of himself and used others for gain. The Closed-Heart, who was unable to extend even a hand. A family of Vampires who were only capable of drawing blood and leaving death behind. Sans remorse.
Now, the lack of remorse was hers to gather and gird upon herself. The city around her would slip further into grey stillness. It was time to depart. Never look back.
There is fiction. There is life. What is the difference?
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