virtusxcor-archive ;   "You’re not a monster!"

Send me one to see how my muse reacts!

         _{Opinion was such a subjective thing. Such was the true definition of opinion, because opinion was never fact—it was simply a statement of mind, a judgment given by a person who is undoubtedly biased in one way or another. There was no living without biases, no way to escape the grip that such leanings had on people, no way to ignore the fact that everyone had their own thoughts, had their own feelings for things, because individuals had the ability to think and learn and form opinions on their own. No opinion was innately right or wrong—}

                                                               _{So they said.}

         _{Early on in her existence she had been labeled as all people tended to be at some point in their life—because everyone felt the need to label. To compartmentalize and to place people into boxes because it made everything easier, made the judgment of others a simpler task. The moment when a person met another a snap judgment is made, an opinion is formed, shakable at first, but perhaps solidified later. And she knew how she was labeled, what she was labeled as, and kept that word close to herself, in her mind and in her body, engraved into a soul—if she had one.}

                                                                        _{To be told she was not a monster was laughable.}

         _{Humorous, just enough so that a small smile appeared on her face even as she stood there with eyes that were empty and bottomless and unfeeling. So unfeeling, even as emotions and thoughts and words rushed through her brain, her bones, her blood, the very molecules and atoms that made up her entire existence. Eyes were supposed to give away just what a person was feeling, and she had never been an exception because she had always known that her eyes gave away just what she thought, just how she felt. But in that moment she also knew that her eyes were blank as they looked upon the blond young man who was so close to her in height, even as she processed his impassioned words.}

                  _{How silly, really. To give such words without much thought, even when they did not know each other well. To say that she was not a monster was, perhaps, true, because she did not have the traits and features of a monster. That much she could accept without much difficulty, but his words were so bold and rang in the air and hovered between the two of them. Enough so that she ran them through her head again and again and again and could feel the worry of disappointment hovering over her, the weight of something indescribable crushing her chest and making it difficult to breathe.}

         _{So often people tried to label her, to cast her in a role and insist that that was what she was. Insist that there was no denying that she was exactly that, and perhaps she was or was not in their eyes. Because opinion was subjective, unshakable when someone was absolutely sure that their opinion was the absolute truth, and perhaps that was why she thought her own opinion was pure truth.}

                           _{”—I’m not a monster,}

                                             _{But I am a witch.”}

                                    _{To her, that was the unavoidable truth.}