13

~Avia 

Kadrick passes back and forth in my room, dappled streaks of moonlight tracing his person. 

"I can't stand him,” he mutters distractedly, hands clenched firmly at his sides. 

I loung back on the bed, chewing mindlessly on a snack I retrieved earlier from the kitchen. Kadrick is struggling with the same initial feelings that consumed me when I arrived. He may not have experienced the consequences of Isaiah’s reign to the same extent I have, but that, and yet the anger he grapples with is fiery and hot, compared to mine, which simmers at a cold, dark intensity. I’ve had years to cry, to scream and truly feel