Shrapnels of Lavender

My eyes are tired. Burning. Bloodshot. 

Like the innocent blood he spilled. 

Stop. Don’t go there. My eyes get all damp again. 

Like my lips did after I kissed him. 

Before you assume, this isn’t a story of forbidden love. It’s a story of a quiet collapse, a silent undoing of a girl who falls prey to her own expertise—the very instincts that once protected her are now slicing her open. 

This is not the story of a girl who loved a monster, but of a girl who loved him in spite of the monster he was becoming, loved him enough to bend ethics, compromise morals, and rewire logic itself. 

How do you reconcile the version of someone you knew with the version the world demands you to condemn? Because sometimes the hardest part isn’t what they did…it's what you still remember. 

If this book feels uncomfortable, good. 

It was never meant to be pretty.