I spent my life mending fractured minds. Yet he was undoing mine,slowly, thorn by deliberate thorn. I knew Greece was a mistake.
But how do you resist the ghosts that have whispered your name for years, patient and unrelenting?
I never intended to step onto a battlefield of broken hearts and broken minds, yet there I stood, entangled in a silent triangle where every truth was a weapon and every silence a wound.
Each choice I made drew blood. I was caught in the thorns of war, bound by invisible threads that kept those I loved forever just beyond my reach. The more I resisted, the deeper they cut.
The harder I pulled, the more fate tightened its grip. I began this story believing restraint was virtue, that love was mercy. I was wrong.
Morality, I learned, is a luxury afforded only to those untouched by desire. And Violet Freud was no Jane Eyre. My conscience answered only to those I loved.
And when this war ended, I would not emerge unscathed, but I would emerge victorious.
