𝟎𝟎. 𝐏𝐫𝐨𝐥𝐨𝐠𝐮𝐞

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❝Death teaches things about life in a way that life itself never can❞

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❝Death teaches things about life in a way that life itself never can❞











Anna Stanley had killed herself. Or so the story went as faceless people entered the church. One by one they all said their condolences, some even shed a tear through their nonexistent eyes.

It made Anna sick, seeing all the people who used to turn a blind eye when others, also present in the church, called her names.

Now attending your own funeral may seem very gloomy and slightly sadistic but Anna Stanley had been like that for as long as those who really knew her could remember, she had a fascination with death and what came after.

At the core of it all Annas presence only displayed just how fucked up her relationship to the impending doom was, that and then fact that she still slightly longed for her human self. Her better self.

Anna couldn't deny that the service was beautiful, even through the veil covering her face she could tell that it was sincere and heartfelt.

But isn't everything supposed to be like that when you're at the funeral of an 18 year old who killed herself? It made bitter how she was displayed like some sort of hero that every one in the world would miss, when she knew that the second they exited this church most people wouldn't grant the once existing Anna Stanley a thought.

But she didn't care - she didn't care about anything - now Anna had always been controlled by emotions, so it was ironic that in death her gift would be to turn them off completely. She felt nothing. no sadness. no pain. no remorse. no love. And she preferred it that way by far. It was the only reason she would be able to get through this move.

Annas bloodlust was somewhat controlled, when she wanted it to be, but most the time she. Well she didn't care to keep it under control. She had killed. And she didn't care.

That was why it was decided she had to go the one place where she could possibly turn her gift off and regain emotion. The one place where someone had the power to control her. 

Volterra, Italy.

The funeral was her last moments here before she left - and even in her emotionless state, she dreaded it.


𝐇𝐞𝐚𝐥𝐢𝐧𝐠, ᴄᴀɪᴜs ᴠᴏʟᴛᴜʀɪ (𝟐)Where stories live. Discover now