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~Road to Recovery~ Chapter 2: VoicesRoad to Recovery
The city of Kirkville was silent with inactivity. The night had just fallen the streets eerily empty, the air cold and damp. A telltale sign that rain was to come
"I should've brought an umbrella " a young woman said to herself. "This could turn into a storm by the hour." The woman laughed a little as she said it, as she was a ghost the rain would have no effect on her.
The woman was Emma Goulen, a lost soul, drawn from her initial resting place by a voice. A voice that she herself didn't readily understand.
"Nobody wants a cripple " it said. "I'm fucking worthless "
Emma continued to walk the unfamiliar path, the voice slightly louder everytime it reoccured.
"Why are you saying these things ?" she muttered to herself, as she walked. The voice made no sense, as she heard more from it.
"In this brief moment of clarity I realized I had to end my life."
The voice was close this time, as if coming from right beside her. Em
Ninja's Character Meme
Character Name: Emma Goulèn
Birth year: 1985
Death year(optional): 2003
Astrological Sign: Taurus
Occupation: First year college student
Residence: Kirkville (in life), wanders anywhere she lived in life, usually staying near Stockholm.
Description of their childhood/backstory: Childhood was kind to her, the first 12 years of her life very easy and the epitome of a perfect upbringing. Her mother was diagnosed with breast cancer when Emma turned 13 and lost the fight when she turned 15. Emma did not cope with the loss well. Her father fell into despair, and he turned on both Emma and her little sister Leila (age 6), in physically and mentally harmful ways. When Emma turned 16, she came very close to killing herself, but stopped when she couldn't bring herself to draw a knife across her throat. She had tried to cut on her arm to see how pain
Volpi.You will find that the story you tell
is very rarely your own. In Lucca,
even the smallest pebbles
breathe in the warm sunlight.
Knotted stones and cobbled roads
beat out a paper-dry heartbeat heat
my city breathes in and out,
inhales sparrow air.
It's writing a story.
You are the pen.
You will find that in Lucca
the daisy chains forge fire
in side streets and back alleys.
Teenagers intertwine. Tell me,
odd flower, are you still closed?
Here we are colored wax;
the heat of the city melts us.
We run into each other, rhapsody
of pigments. Operas are our specialties.
Open up; feel the reds.
If not, try and see them. There is a place
of deep knife marks, a street
long as midnight
you may learn something there.
Valentina's voice glimmers like red wine.
You may enjoy intoxications. Still,
know alcohol has no story
and will swallow your own.
Find the sign with the wolf on it.
You'll know the place. Epiphanies ring true as church-bells.
Lucca still guides the wanderers
to well sp
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