Post by Sheliya LeStrange on Aug 19, 2008 22:42:42 GMT -5
Sometimes things felt like they were closing in around her. Everything boxed her into a corner and consumed her, leaving her no room to breathe or think; suffocated her dry. Those were the times when she wanted nothing more than to just shrink away or curl up and cry, but she couldn't. She wasn't allowed to do that because she was a LeStrange and LeStranges were strong.
For Sheliya, those moments came far too often for her own well being.
Being a Pure Blood was something she was supposed to be proud of. However, with the way things were going for her, she couldn't find the pride she was supposed to have for her bloodlines. Yes, she'd had her ancestry told to her a million and twelve times over the years and could recite them forwards and backwards with no difficulty whatsoever. Although while they meant the world to her brother and had been more important than Sheliya - Shelli - herself to her mother, the youngest LeStrange had never been obsessed with 'keeping the lines pure' or her heritage at all. Perhaps that was why her brother hated her so much, or perhaps there was something more. Nevertheless, being a Pure Blood had never been the most important part of her life.
After all, look at everything her family alone had managed to do. How many innocent people they had tortured and/or killed for their own vindictive pleasure. Her mother in particular had been more cruel than most could ever imagine being, though Bellatrix LeStrange had been insane. Her father had not been bad to that extent, though he certainly was no saint. If anything, Shelli took after him more than the monster that had given birth to her. Damian, her brother, had certainly taken after their mother, though went above and beyond. He was truly terrifying and had intimidated, abused, and manipulated his sister for as long as the poor girl could possibly remember.
She had hoped that maybe once she turned seventeen all of this would end. That maybe she might be allowed the chance to ber her own person instead of the pretty doll she'd been trained to be. Truly, that was the best way to describe Sheliya LeStrange. Her brother had molded her to be a pretty porcelain doll that did as he wished. Shelli hated being that way, and hoped she might somehow escape the life she'd been sent into . Unfortunately, her step-mother and aunt had taken that hope and crushed it. Shelli knew now that she was trapped into this life forever, and there was no escape. An arranged marriage had been set up -- an arranged marriage to one of her very best friends.
Deucalion - Cal - Malfoy had been a constant in her life for as long as she could remember. One of her closest friends since she was a child, and she had loved him ever since she could remember -- as a friend, of course. However, as they grew, something changed. Every touch gave her tingles and sent the once-dormant butterflies in her stomach into a frenzy. She seemed to be blushing more than she ever had and stumbling over her words. It had confused her more than anything for a while, and then she came to a conclusion: the love she felt for him had developed into something so much more, and she couldn't help but feel that way.
When she heard of the arrangement, she immediately felt terrible. Not for herself -- for him. Neither of them had any choice but to go through with it, and she knew that he would not want to be tied down like this. And as a result, she hated herself for being almost...happy about it. It could have been so much worse, for one. But for two, she wanted to be with him so badly, and the thought of being married to him was a happy one. Rather, it would be happy were it not for the circumstances. So when she automatically felt happy about it, she felt sick and the hatred she felt for herself bubbled over. She was a terrible person to almost be happy about this, surely. Being glad about an arrangement that made the other person involved miserable was a terrible thing.
Unfortunately, she rarely got away from everything she was feeling. She would never talk to anyone about her problems because she did not need to burden someone else with what she had to deal with and go through. It was not their battle to go through -- it was hers.
A cigarette was pressed to glossed lips as bright blue eyes slid to a close. Shelli inhaled nice and long, allowing the smoke to burn a path to her lungs before she tilted her head back against the tree she sat against to exhale. The sun was hiding behind the clouds on the Saturday afternoon, and it felt as though the temperature had dropped a few degrees since she had left the castle. Shelli wished she had dressed warmer than she had, though she didn't exactly feel like moving to summon a sweatshirt or to walk back to go get one.
The jeans she wore were a comfortable fit and stone washed, a little long for her and thus covering the tops of black Converses but she didn't care too much. A turquoise polo adorned her upper half, and due to the way she was sitting, a bit of pale skin was visible between her jeans and the edge of the shirt, though she didn't seem to notice. An absent shiver ran down her spine when the wind blew, blowing dark curls forward into her face. She pushed them back with ease before shifting a little and inhaling again.
Sometimes she did feel like she had to escape. Trevor could be nearly suffocating with his presence -- watching over every little movement she made, always needing to be there. She needed her space from him from time to time even though she did love (friendship-wise, obviously) and appreciate him. Kallie was nice to escape from sometimes, too, as Shelli could not smoke or do anything more than drink around the tiny French veela. Smoking made her through a hissy fit, and drugs made her spazz even more. If Shelli did drugs, Kallie would go running to Cal, who in turn would possibly flip on her ass depending on the strength of said drugs.
All in all, she sometimes needed to just get away. She did feel a little lonely at the moment, though, and almost wished she had brought Trevor with her.
Oh, well, too late for that.
