when i started this story, i thought it would literally be 5 chapters, unfinished and forgotten. I did not think people would find this book or even read it if they did, thinking everything i wrote was absolutely horrid, hahaha. i love you and i love these characters more than anything. i never planned for this story to be so long, probably at most 50 chapters, some accidental plot holes and a rushed ending. my original idea behind this book looked almost nothing like what we have now — only some similarities still weighing out the odds. never in my life had i expected to write something so long, detailed — somewhere where i love to interact with you all, make friends, hear your thoughts on my book. you all inspire me to continue and you all inspire me to finish this. i promise once this book is done i'll fix mistakes, plotholes (that may be happening), and even give you an idea of what the book was ACTUALLY supposed to look like just for funsies (alternate endings, etc.)

i know we aren't at a million yet, but im celebrating early... thank you<3

pack it up

WITH THE WINDOWS DARK, PORCH in need of a cleaning, a two story brick home sat abandoned among the rest of the houses in the neighborhood. From the outside, nothing seemed to be wrong — just the sight of an old home. On the inside, however, told a different story.

The couches were ripped open, springs poking out of the sides. Tables were flipped and scratched, the grainy wood being forever ruined. Pictures were no longer decorated inside the frame, merely being glass portraying a white dusty background.

Petunia had not yet walked into the home, feeling as if she took a step inside, she would be forever stuck there. That the door would shut behind her, locking itself on its own and never letting her leave.

    She had nightmares coming back here. When she'd originally heard she'd have to come back, even for just an hour, she refused. Petunia begged them to let her stay, she said it was okay if her belongings got donated or sold away — she didn't want them anymore. Because everything there was a reminder of what her life used to be like. It was a reminder that she was once unloved, unneeded by her family. The house, her room, it all gave her that oh so familiar negative feeling. She was reminded of the drugs she'd sneaked away, the window that would let in the chilly breeze, almost freezing the tears that freely fell down her face. She was reminded of her repeated visions — seeing the man who started to make her life even more of a living hell.

She stayed in her spot.

So had Lily.

Though, it was for a different reason. Lily hadn't gotten as close as Petunia had, still standing on the sidewalk next to the street. Her wand was protectively held in her hand, being hidden by her long sleeves as it rested against her inner arm. She was waiting for someone to show up, attack them at any moment.

Both sisters had their ears perked up, waiting to hear a step, a whisper, any sort of unusual sign. But as nothing sounded, not even a car — both felt slightly relieved at the fact.

Petunia lightly leaned forward, taking sight of the first room.

Her hands were now in fists, her fingernails digging into her palm so harshly that the sight of crimson red peaked from the pressure. Petunia bit back her lip as well, her foot slowly making its way off the ground as she took her first step inside.

A crack of glass immediately sounded.

Because no matter how careful she was, Petunia couldn't avoid stepping on something. The home was a mess, destroyed into tiny little pieces of breakable items.

she cringed at the sound.

But she still continued.

     Petunia's eyes never ventured away from the original direction they were headed — knowing the only place she'd be was her room. The blonde didn't look at the kitchen as she passed it, she never glanced to the dining room. Petunia didn't even look at her parents door when she went past it, already seeing it cracked open. She didn't let her curiosity take over, she didn't let her mind wonder what it looked like in there.

     They were sleeping when they died. That's what she assumed at least. It was early in the morning when the attack happened, when three pairs of wands were pointed in her parents direction. She knew they had to at least be in there, on their bed.

She passed it.

     And as she went to her own door, which was neighboring her parents, the girl found her steps come to a halt — seeing as her door was wide open.

It was always shut.

She took a deep breath.

and simply stared at the sight.

      Her sheets were ripped off her bed, her drawers were flung out of the sockets of her dresser. Clothes that were left behind were now scattered on the flooring, some receiving tears from the harshness of it all.

    Petunia's books were also fallen over from their stack. The hardbacks had broken spines, while the softer pages were ripped into tiny pieces — letting sentences and words messily lay on the flooring as if it was carpet.

she took another step forward.

      Her window was open, though, she wasn't surprised by the fact. And in all honesty, she was happy with that — making her feel as if she had an escape if needed.

     Even though the wind was cold and the small ounce of snow was making its way through, it was probably the most comforting thing she'd seen and felt that day.

she smiled through her sadness.

     And as her steps soon followed each other, Petunia finally stepped fully into her room, ignoring the mess around her.

    Instead, as if it would help anything, Petunia grabbed her ripped sheets off the flooring, dusting off the dispersed paper before placing it on her bed.

    The sheets hardly fit, even ripping further as she tucked in each corner — but again, she pretended everything was normal.

disbelief was fading her judgements.

     Petunia made her bed, the best she could at least. The pillows, even with small portions of feathers leaking from the fabric, stacked on her head board. Her blanket, which was now the quarter of the size it used to be, messily was thrown at the end. Her books were stacked, using the wall as support as some were now uneven. And the ripped papers were thrown onto the top of her dresser, that now had all of its drawers placed back into place.

she glanced around.

       The room no longer had the eery look it once held. And although it was nowhere near normal, clean, or put together — Petunia thought it was perfect.

because it was just like her.

     Despite it looking okay, almost okay — there were still all of the cracks, destruction, and dust that was hidden away. This room held secrets and scars. It held sadness and pain. But, with only a small and simple glance, you'd never know.

Just like Petunia.

She sat on her bed, letting the silence overtake.