She was unnaturally calm today. Like the firm pebble in the river, true to its weight. Like the delicate roots of a plant, loyal to gravity. Like the young leaves sticking strong to its branches, even as the current of wind shakes the tree roughly about.
She had no feelings of hatred today. Nor of spite, or remorse or helplessness. But there most certainly was one thought in those tiny brain cells, interrupting her calm demeanour: Till when? When should she stop ‘acting’ mean and egoistic? Is it even necessary to lower her moral for another roguish person? Will it be forgivable to taint her own soul for the mistakes of the other? When would be ‘The End’? Is there even a chance for any ceremonial end? Or would it simply be a full stop without the opportunity for a goodbye? She took a deep breath. Tried to think about a solution. History repeats itself, she read it in the book she was trying to read. Which did little to lift her spirits.