1. death is not an option.
her dress billowed around her, and the sunlight swirled in her mind. colours clashed together, her retinas exploding with confusion.
“why…?” she asked, squinting and trying to touch the swift birds and branches in front of her. one day she would catch them, one day they wouldn’t escape her thin, painted fingers.
“you’re dying, my dear.” one of the twins answered.
“dying, but in a fit of passion.” the other echoed.
“i… don’t know.” She cried. She threw her arms out, thrashing and screaming. “i don’t want to die!”
the twins disappeared in a cloud of choking smoke, the girl coughed and spluttered, falling to her knees. her fingers were twirling around the endless lengths of the living grass, its velvet touch encompassing her body. cushioning it, with irony.
she screamed at the explosion in her chest, her back arching, offering her ribs to the sky. her hands closed around the bloody knife, and she tore it from the wound. red stained her eyes, and then all she could see was anger, blood and pain.
then she woke. the trees rustled around her, the living grass was tangled in her fingers. the knife was no where to be seen, and then the twins clouded the blue sky.
“you’re dying.” they whispered.