Romans & histoires Pieces Of Her

Her eyes follow me wherever I move, a constant reminder of my obsession. In one corner of the room, a glass display case holds the items I’ve stolen from her over the years: a hairbrush tangled with her curls, a scarf she left behind in a café, a pair of earrings she wore on her birthday. Each piece is a fragment of her, a piece of the puzzle that makes her *mine*.

Her eyes rested on the table, which had a small drawer at the side. Instinctively, she hurried towards it and pulled out the entire thing, its contents scattering onto the floor. She scanned the items which had fallen out and it seemed more hopeless than it was before. There was nothing sharp or pointy. Just some wool, threads and some wooden stuff which looked like a child had carved. She sank to the ground, resting her back on the frame on the bed, her breath shaky from frustration as she held back her tears. 'How could Cecil do this to her fellow woman?' she thought as she shut her eyes for a brief moment. And when she opened them, she turned her gaze to the door again.

She looked fragile yet unyielding, like a porcelain sculpture crafted to withstand the weight of time. Her eyes locked onto mine, a storm of emotions swirling in their depths—frustration, longing, and something else that I couldn’t quite name but felt like a punch to my gut. The set of her jaw told me she had come here with purpose, but the slight tremor in her hands betrayed the vulnerability she tried to mask.

she said proudly, running her fingers over the intricate stitching and carefully preserved fabric as she showed it off. “Is that so? “There are only two pieces in the world, CEO Herman's wife has one, and the other is this one.” I was completely taken aback by her stunning beauty, and as I continued to gaze at her, I couldn't help but notice that she was also looking back at me. At that moment, she asked, "You don't like it?” “That’s not it. Well…. It looks fine.” "Then let's go," she said with a smile, reaching out to hold my hand as we strolled together towards the car, which was parked just a few steps away.

she said, “there will be nothing left.” My Chest Tightened “All of us…?” She Nodded Slightly “You think we were the only ones?” A chill ran down my spine “There are more,” she continued. “Fragments. Versions. Failed or hidden.” My Mind Raced “And it’s calling all of them…” “Yes.” Final Build-Up The tear pulsed violently again. Stronger. Wider. The pull intensified Now targeting both of us. She staggered slightly For the first time She was struggling too “You can’t fight it forever,” she said.

Without any pause, he rushed back to the house they'd lived in for three years. Inside, everything was pitch black. The fire in the fireplace was nearly out, leaving only a few dark red embers. Two things sat on the table. There was a signed mate bond dissolution agreement, and her discarded moonstone ring. It was the mate bond ring he'd personally placed on Elizabeth's finger. Over the past three years, she'd always worn it carefully, even gently wiping it clean before bed every night. But now, it sat quietly on the table, like an unmistakably clear goodbye.

She was further along than both of those people. Not fixed — she didn't think people were fixed, had never believed in the fixed version of things. More like: integrated. The pieces of herself she'd been carrying separately — the twenty-four-year-old with the unfinished sentence, the woman in the green coat walking away from the champagne glasses, the agent who knew how to fix other people's broken things, the person who kept a rubber plant alive by accident and then on purpose — they were the same person. She was the same person. She'd just been able to see the whole shape of it now.

She watched his eyes shift from arrogance to despair. And all the while, she gently rubbed the shattered fragments of the pendant I had left behind. Her fingertips split open and bled. She didn't even notice.

She stepped on another piece of glass, her scream turning into a high-pitched wail. She grabbed some of the fallen objects, her eyes landing on a small, fancy-looking teddy bear. She kissed its head, an unspoken apology, a small, involuntary gesture of comfort, and placed it back on the shelf. Then, she knelt, trying to gather the remaining glass shards under the bed. Blood was already trickling down her legs. She took a deep breath and began her performance. Screaming, crying, pleading for help. The door burst open. Artemis rushed in, her face a mask of confusion. “What’s happening?”

Piece by piece, the glass fell to the floor, making a soft ‘ting’ with each shard. “He’s mine. Anthony is mine.” Her gibberish finally broke into words, and I felt a shiver run down my spine. My eyes narrowed, heart thudding—this was the most terrifying thing I had ever seen. Still, what did she mean by Anthony being hers? Why would she go to the extent of hurting herself? Was she even mentally well? Who the hell was this girl, and what did she really want? Something about her felt wrong, deeply, unsettlingly wrong.