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party wurmple never sleeps. only dances.
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If Astrid had felt trapped before, Penelope’s words and her terrified, heartbroken actions were akin to her locking her up and throwing away the key. She screwed her eyes shut, mentally berating herself over and over again, stroking Penelope’s hair like she knew she was supposed to. She’d never exactly been a ‘huggy’ person, not with her few friends, not with the fewer people she’d dated, not even on the soccer pitch.

She wasn’t going to just shove Penelope aside, though, although she knew she should. If they had been in a different time, a different place, she couldn’t exactly have described this as unpleasant. One final moment of comfort with one of her friends, before… well, before they never saw each other again. Not in the same light, at least.

Because that was the rub, wasn’t it? Penelope was assuming that Astrid was the same as her; scared for their lives and inconsolable over the loss of their friends. In some way, she was correct. In other ways… no. They couldn’t more different.

Penelope looked like she was going to keep on crying until there were no more tears left inside of her, and Astrid was about to break her heart even further.

“It wasn’t her fault,” huh? Maybe not this time. But just wait, just wait for the next few announcements, and she would hear Astrid’s name on it, not as the killed but as the killer instead. It would only happen once, only one time if she could help it. But she doubted that would make any difference to Penelope. Was her erstwhile friend going to regret caring about Astrid’s safety? Would she stop caring about her at all?

Would she die with hatred in her heart?

Astrid realised her fist had started to clench, holding onto Penelope a little too tightly, and she relaxed her grip a little. She was a terrible actor, but she didn’t need to fake the tears in the corners of her eyes. This was going to hurt. This whole fucking thing was tearing her up inside, but it was the only way possible to survive that she could see.

Everyone knew that when Astrid set her mind on something it was damn near impossible to change it.

“I won’t…” Astrid replied. Her voice was hard to pin down. It was quiet, almost as quiet as Penelope’s was. There was a catch to it as well, the telltale sign of emotions trying to be pushed down beneath the surface. But there was a hard edge to it, the spear point of her words.

“I’m not… going to die. I promise you, I-“

No. No promises. Promises could be broken oh so easily.

“… I guarantee I’m not going to die. I’m going to survive…”

Breathe in. Here goes nothing.

“Whatever it takes, I’m going to live.”


"bryony and alba would definitely join the terrorists quote me on this put this quote in signatures put it in history books" - Cicada Days, 2017
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