It wasn't an unheard thing for her to lose her consciousness over that book of hers. With soft fingers hanging from the edges of the hardcovers, her eyes closed, she fell deeper and deeper into the slumber she had avoided for so long. For what was the reason to sleep when dreams were forbidden to her mind?
And yet, she was dreaming. Against all rules, it started from pure white, a crashing whirlpool of pureness that smelled like roses. And suddenly, she was sitting in front of the priest, all dressed in white. It was December 14th and snow could be seen falling outside the windows of the church.
White were her flowers and dress and white was her hair, just like her eyes. She could feel gentle hands holding hers and the husky voice of the priest reading the sermon of what seemed to be a precious day.
No memories were making her smile and yet she knew she was happy. She knew that beyond her incapability of seeing, the man in front of was in love, if not with her poor appearance, then with her humor or maybe, just maybe, with her romantic mind.
No shadows of reality were able to break through the tall walls of the church, so she rested for a while inside there as she could hear her mother's cry, feeling her soon-to-be husband's affection. Just for a little while she wished everything could be real, that everything could one day come true - her, the girl who brought the endless autumn with her eyes become the bride of Winter and never again feel the fear of darkness.
But as wind howled outside her window, she stirred into her sleep, her eyes lazily opening only to embrace the desolation of a life she never wished for. Nothingness caged between four blue walls, with a bed for rest and a water bottle to survive bitter nightmares.
And yet, she smiled. She was not to be defeated that easily. She was to wake up day after day, confronting everything with a smile on her face, making her own way through the darkness she feared so much. She didn't need anyone to hold her hand even though she could feel fear creeping inside, grabbing her bones and squeezing them so that they'd break. She needn't him to be there, a beacon driving away the shadows of her own heart. For she knew he would have never came when called... so better not hold on expectations.
She was alright. She hummed a little song as she packed the book in the red material, hiding it under her bed, in the miserable hole.
She was a Rebel.
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