sirxusblack:

The realization of what I have done comes as a fog in my chest, cold, dark, and spreading. I grimace and hunch over. The icy fog runs from my chest through my back and up my neck. It shoots through my head and down my spine. Cold, cold, remorse. Maybe I could have found the fire extinguishers and stopped the flames somehow. Maybe, maybe. If only, if only. I wanted so much for us: a life free of constriction and prejudice. A life free to love and be loved. And here, I have killed them. My Liars, my darlings. Killed them. My Mirren, my Johnny, my Gat. This knowledge goes from my spine down my shoulders and through my fingertips. It turns them to ice. They chip and break, tiny pieces shattering on the Windemere steps. Cracks splinter up my arms and through my shoulders and the front of my neck. My face is frozen and fractured in a witch’s snarl of grief. My throat is closed. I cannot make a sound. Here I am frozen, when I deserve to burn.