Scheherazade

November 13th, XX17. Let’s say, for once, the story doesn’t go the way it should.Let’s say that for once, a girl chasing after a boy with flowers in her hair didn’t see what he left behind. Let’s say that instead of being granted the mercy of crying her heart out in front of a fire, she was swept up in the shadows of the city too soon to even allow for a single tear.Let’s say that instead of fighting for those she loved - after all, they were all gone - she fought for revenge, the only thing she had left, with the hilt of a sword in her hands instead of a trigger.Let’s say she met another boy with the bluest eyes she’d ever seen in her life, and took his hand instead.(Or: We all fall eventually, the wayward ones. But what is broken can be healed, and what is lost will be found.)