fuck a fairy tale

NO MATTER WHAT, YOU must satisfy the monster. It has loved you longer than anyone else. It has seen your terrors and comforted you amidst the dark. It wraps you in its warm embrace and shields you from the things that bring you fright. Do not think that the monster lives to watch you writhe for them: it is not the audience watching their loved performer. No, no. My dears, it loves you. More than you could ever love yourself.

And once you accept that fact, the monster will intertwine with you and mend your broken soul, seep into the gaps and stitch them together. You will become one, joined together in a way that transcends the holiest aspects of life. Bereft of purity. Trust me, my dears, you will never see the light again.

But you will never have to suffer in the dark.

Ivette stood with wide eyes.

Her heart dropped to her stomach.

The monster rose from his slumber, roused by the shifting emotions. Electric, murky green eyes peeled open, blinking away the manifestation of sleep. It peered through its master's gaze, looking ahead. Oh, what a beautiful sight indeed. A sinister grin swept across its face, razor-sharp teeth glinting in the depths of Ivette's youthful mind— blindingly white, blindingly horrifying.

Shadows have been known to take the forms of their owners: the forms that comfort them the most. Dear ones, do not forget.

This shadow was a monster.

A monster who loved.

And there is nothing more deadlier than an intangible being that could bring the world to its knees for the sake of affection.

"Suki," came a trembling breath. "What're you doing?" Hands were held close to a frozen chest, circled into fists. The breeze of autumn washed by, ruffling the ends of a springtime dress. Seasons change— that is an irrefutable fact. One can choose to change with it or not.

For an aching child, she chose not to change.

The shadow in her head buzzed with joy.

"̶̢͕͚̦͎̙̞͈̰̲̰͔̭̓̈͆̾̾̂̓̾̓͌͆̎̕͝͝Į̵̱͎̗̰̹̌̃̔̾̑̕͘̕͠t̶̠̞̞͕̘̘̺̪͉͚͍̞̖̺̬͈̙̣̦͚͙̭͚̐̕͜'̶̧̼̗͕̜̹̥̫̞̯̤̜͔͚̫̹̰̼̏͛̿̈̐̃̀̎͐̋̃͒͐̐́̂͆̋͌̓̚̚͜͝͠͝ş̸̨̭͚͇̺̗̱̺̜͓̖̥̠̗̬͔̺̜̞̺̣̋̈́̿̅͌̐̈́͐̄͒͌͌̀͆̑̀̒̕̕͜͝͠ͅ ̶̨̨͙̙̲̳͖͖͉̗̼̩͇̞̟̫͎̙̋̐͆͊͌͂̈́̓͑̈́̔̓͊̆͊͗̚̕̕͝͝͝t̵̡͕̳͈̱̞̪͎̠͓͍̖͕̗͝į̸͈͈̜̱̪̟͚̞͕̜̤̣͖̖̎̓̂̊̀͗͠m̸̹͌͊̄̈́̃̐͊̏̂̀̆̍̍̎͂̕̚̚̕͝ȩ̷̡̦̖̻̺̟̘͍̥̺̤̦̯͈͇̞͕͚̺̌̂͐͛̉͌̔̾̈́̀̓̈́̒͐̐̅̕̚̚͜͝͠͝ ̵̡̛͙̜̣̱̫̠̥̹͈̙̃̀͌̓͐͊̒̅̀̉̔͘͜͠ͅt̸̡̧̨͉͖̥̻͍̩̗̘͈̣͇̜̦͔̱͖̠͚̓̍̋́̈͆̏̏̕͜ǫ̸̨̧̧̧͓̱̮̞̖̲̹̳̙͚̺̣̳̦͓̮͓͙̭͒́̃̀̔̓̄͐̏̆̀͌͗͋͊̀͒̓͌̚͘̕͠͠ ̷̛̼͖̰̠͖̖͖͉̻̘̰͈̬̺̤̳̩͔̥̓͛̅̊̀̿͊̈̀̍̾́̆̄̊̈͊̕̚͘͝ͅc̶̡̧̻͎̰͇͚̦̼̠̭͕̱̪̦̰̪̖̣̒͌̂̀̾̂͛͒͐̿̓͋̒̚͘͜h̴̛͔͒̀͌̍̊̒̉͌̒̈́̈́̂̎̑̎̊̓̎͑̔̚̚̕͝ą̷̡͈̪̼̱̻̬̻̞̥̝͚͚͈̞͉̜̳̮̝̯̖̩̠̃͑̃̃̽̎̽̚̕͜͜n̵̬̖̩͇̭̖̲̬͍̫͖̜͉̰̪͇̾̓̀̏̐̒̇̈͛̎̋͒̈́̆̃́̅͆̊̿͝͠͠ͅğ̵̢̧̧̨̨̨͉̱̙͉̻̭̬͓̦̯̞͕̟̗͎̞̋̉̍̆͊̈͑̓̕͜͝ͅͅe̴̡̡͇̙̪̖̙͚̜̣̱̞̳͆̀̐̓̓̍̀̊̅̃̄̎̍̊̚̕ͅ,̶̧̡̨̹̤̘͙͉̟͔̞̞͓̲͍͙͈̣̝̩̱͉͐͂͋͂̎̍̇̃͒̌̄̽͂̒͒͛ ̴̠͓̱̭̀̈̆̎̿͝͠I̵̢̨̨̛̛͉̠̼̱͔̯͉̦̠̰̣̜̝͔̫̤̰͔̟̓̾̊̃̾̋̃̿̐̕͘͜ͅͅv̶͉̿̊͂͒̊̆̂̀̈̈́̈́̀̍̕͝è̴̡̢̡̗̭̲͈̰̺̩͈̜̲̹̲͇̱̳͕̗̪͐́͑̐͜͜͠t̸̨̛͕̞̠̪̱̤̞͈͙̲͕͙̺̻͈̥̙̻̗̣͚͉͕̲̝͗̊̓̊̇͗͛̿͊̈́̐͌͗̊͌̍͑͒̚͝t̷̨͙̰̗̯͈̖̙͓̼͕͓̬̺̞̿͊͒̄̿̅̎̅̕ȩ̶̢̳̭̝͙̳̙͇̟̯̰̞̪̭͋͑̏͂̄̍̕͝.̵̟̈̽̏͛͑͛͛͑̚͝"̷̛̜̼͍̲̘͔̮̬̤̖͔͓̤͓̳̜͖̹̍̌͐̋͝

"Suki, w-what're yo-u doing to Zuku?"

Red eyes bore into her own.

Horror seeped from his pupils.

"̴̧̡̗͚̤̫̠͈̭͔̖̣͖̩̙͙̺̮̈́͂͑̀̈́̋T̶̡͖͎̹͖̈̄̋̎͝h̸̨̛͐̿̏̈̓̄͋̏̒̑̔̇̈͗̆̃̕͝͝ę̷̛̛͙̦̩̩̺̗̗͓͇͍̗̲̺̟͔̪́̑̃̃̋͗͛̉̈́̿͛̓̽̇̍͗̒͋̚̚̕ͅ ̵̧̢̰͙̗̼̦̟̳̣͂́̐̌̎̑̐͘̚̕w̸̛͚̥̗̟͖͍̬̝̟͈̯̑̓̊̾̈͊̂́̐̈́͒͂́̌̒̀͛̓͑́͘͝ơ̷̭̞̞͕̳̲̗̯̭̽͒͊̐́͒̄͛͋͆̔͒̕͘ͅṛ̴̢̱̩̜̳͔͎̬͕̲̦̥̱̰̖̝̟̝̌̏̀̆͂́̒͗̃͊̽̐̀̍̕͘͜͜͝͝ḻ̴͕̍͗͂̊͌̊͗̇̄͆̀͠ḑ̴̨̬̗̰̩̩̯̗̯̙̞̠͕̤̪̭̞͖͌ ̴̨̧̨̨̗̦̜̲̼̙̜̮̺̃̍͜͠í̶̡̢͙̘̜̾͑̆̈́̑͌̅͑̃̀̈́̒̄̆́ͅͅs̴̢̨̳̪̮͔̙̥̜̜̠̳̥͈̺͍̯̭̀̐̈̂͌̿̎͊́̄̍̀̈̂͒̈̐̓̕͘̚͜ ̵̝̖͖͍͍͖̙͉̱̭͔̙͎̃͆̋̌͘͜͜ņ̴̨̨̞̼͍̮͖̲̳̺͇͂̅̉̎͊͗̂͗̈́̔́̒͋̇̆̽͆̈́͆̐̚͘͠o̶̖̝͔̥̦̼̣̭͕̓t̵̛͓̭̦̙͖̳͎̜͈̱̦̥̬͙͉͔͗̿̎̍̎̈́̀̾̉͊̍̾̂̾͑̈́̀̓̒̚͘͠ͅ ̵̭̭̺͇̺͖̪͖̰̘̯͙͎͉͌̊̋͂͆̔͆̓͊̉̑͊͛͛͋͘ͅͅá̶̛̛̞̼̪̱͕͇̱͎̻̥̫̤̥̹̳̭̥̩̯̬̏͛̀́͐̎͆̚͜s̵̛̺͍̝͇͚̝̣̫̬͙̗̥͇̞̣͍̆̃͌̎̊ͅͅͅ ̸̛͚̙̜͙͉̞̰̘̓̽̍̆̓į̶̢̧̤̯̟̘̟͎͎̫̜͍̟̟̥̼̝͖̣̺̯͇͛͐̍̈́̌̓͋̀̈́̎t̷̹͑͐̊͊̀́̂̆͑̂̈́̋ ̷̧̨̡̰̭̹͉̩̞̬̞̺͍̰̄͐̈́͌̔̚͘̚̕͝͝͠ͅͅş̸̨̛͓͉̜̯̻͍͎̩̰̦͉̀̓̾́̂̐̃̽̏̉͂́̅̈͜͝ͅͅè̷̡̢̫̪̰̳͕̯̦̗̮͓͉̬̲̬̫̜͚̤̣̲̤͗͒̎̽̌̿͆̂̑̌͛̉̄͆͂̓̀̔̀̐͘̕͜ȩ̵̢͚̻͙͕̟̣͕̩͐̈̅̉̌͛͋̇͌͆̆͛̒̊́͑̀̎͘̕̕͠͠ṃ̷̡̘̲̠̖̹͚̥̝͈͖̤̳͕͇̰̖̞̲̩͕͓͍̀͋̊͋s̶̡͈̟̬̘͙͓͉͖̥͈̼̠̦̻͎͊̒͒̊̎́̂̏͑̐̔̇́̋̒̑̚,̷̟̻͓͔̣̜̠͚͉͋̌͒̍̽̏̀̐̄́̍͂̈̀̕ ̷̢̛͚̥͈͚̲̜̙̰̠̦̫͖̼̮̳̑͂̀̓͒̑̓ͅm̷̛͗͑̈́̈͛͊̃̿̚̚̕ͅȳ̴̢̺̖̞̼̟̬̖̤͚̼̀́̓̂̇̉͊̂͑̎̌̿͘̕ ̶̧̛̪̯͇̞͚̳͖͔̠̤͕̆̂͊̐̎͋̔̑̅̋̇d̷̨̧̢̼̺̯͉͚̹̩͔̺̥͙͕͍̮͔̠̫̘̻̣̒͐̈̅̍è̵̢̢̨̮͖͕̤͇̣͎͇͎̣̜̣̻͖̦͈͚͕͚̙̐̓ą̴̧͓͔̙͚̹̺̥͉̠͚̙̲̗̰͕̬̻̻̽͌͐̔̀̈́̅̍̐͋̌̀̀̀͛̑̎̌͒̓̚͠͝ͅr̵̛̳̼̯͈͈̞̘̝̺̀̃̆͛͐̿͆͛̇̎̄̿͗͑̃́̿̉̄͗͂͠ͅ.̵̜̫̣̋̆͘"̴̡̛̛̙͇̳̣̭͎̪̭͎̝̦̦̫̌̄͂́̓̄̈́͋̓͊̋͒̔͝͠

Ivette's lips quivered.

Her tongue felt heavy, like a block of lead. The moisture in her throat suddenly disappeared; it took great effort to swallow the liquid residue lingering in her mouth.

"̵̛̥̼̬͍̭̜͙͇͓̲̟̱̰͋̆̈́̊͒̋͆̔͋́̉̈́̆͛̃̀̂́͂̿̓͌͐̔̽̓͘̕̕̕̕͝͠͝͝͠Ẽ̴̡̡̡̗̣̣̩̞͓̤͎̩͈̞̼̪̮͈̝̝̩̹̮͑̽̌͗̄̓̊͛̓̾̆̓̿͐̈̎̅̉̈̂̿̈́̀̏̎͛͊̕͘̕͝͝͝͠͠ṽ̵̧̨͓̣̳̙̺̜̘͖͙̬͕͉̻̱̣̬̳͉̹͙̠̲͉͖̫̦̌͊̍̈̾̽̉̒͊̐̇͗͛̿̅̄͆͆͒́͌̓̍̇̄̊͐̚̕̕̚͜͝ͅe̸̢̛̛̱̲̤͉̟̩̱̠̻̦̝̞̰͕̍̂͛͆̿͊̑̈́̆̆̈́̄͜͝n̷̛̛̛̛̫͉̙̳͓̮̟͙̣̼̩̿̊͌͌̓̑͛̈́̌̾̋̅͑̒̀́̈́̈̎̑̋̉̆̅̓̿̽̀̈́̾̊͒̎̔̋̽́̋̕͘͜͝ ̸̛̛̛̘̞̝̻̂̔̈͌̎̅̎̑͗̀̿͂̓͊͋͊̋̀͒̽̌̔̏̎̋̃̎͘͝͝ŷ̸̨̡̢̨͖̥̘̠͕͖̻̙͕̞̪̖͕̮̍̍̈́͒̽͆̓͋͑̐͗̋́̌̅͘͠ơ̶̫͓̈́́̏̑̿̅͆͝ừ̸̡̧̜̙͈̥̗̖̘͔̪̗͍͙̜͙̥͓͉͔̰̮͑͌̓͂̄̄͊͗̂̍̌͂̌̀͐̓̍͌̍̉͋͂̀͊͌̍̄̅͘͘͜͝͝͠͝r̵̡̢̹̤̥̗̬̻͍̦͖̹̲̳͙̙̭̺̱̤̫̟̟̉̋̊̈́̏͑̀͗̐̿͐̑͐͐̐̏̋̄̃̈̓̒̃́͗̄̇͂̈́̆̿̕͝͝͝͠ ̸̨̡̢̨̛͖̤̺̞̥̭̥̳̙̲̗͖̺̲̺̳̦̘̫̘͓̮̲̲̬̖̬̣͕̻̰̞̯̮̮̗̺̇͋̾͂̊̔̄̿̔̍̀̀̏̂̋̈͊̄̀̔̂̐̉̀͆̈́͑͗͊̈́̕͠͠͝͝ͅb̴̨̧̡͇̻̞̟͕̘̟͖̙̱͖͙̗̱̝̱͖̼̞̰͖͉̜̫̺̞̦̘͚̲͙̺̜̱͍͚̟̼̳̣̙͈̲̾́̎̇̉́́̾̉̉̈̈̃͒̋͝ę̵̨̨̛̛̦͚̻̮̠͔̝̜̙̫̞̟͕̗̳̠̹̬̩̪̘̭͚͇͉̼̦̙̖͋̋̅̊̊̑̂̈͗͋͋̎̅͑̿́͆̐̐̈́̂̐̌̈́̍̏͛̂͒̏̚͘͜͝͝͝͝͠͠ͅş̶͔̮̬̘̩̤̻̮̮͖̦̩̦̟̝̥̝̲̼̗̙̭̤͓̖̯̬̞͖̗͈͚̺̘̯̖͈̲͖͙̤̦̰̖̀̿͜ţ̶̥̺̝͖͙̺͎̗̼͈͕̋̆͆̌͂̆͌̃̔̊͘͘̚͜͠ ̴̢̡̫͎̮͕̻͙̳͔̩͚̠͙̠͖͈͓̯̦̦̳͉̩̃̔̒͗̾͌̎́̈̒̎͜͠͝ͅf̸͔̬̘̦̞̙̍̃̀̆̈́̏̀̔̓̒́͗͝͝ŗ̷̛̻͚̏͐́̈́͛͊̂͌̄̒̿̉͌͋̒̌͌̓̐̀́͐̾̊͛͛̕͘͝i̸̧̡̧̨̡̧̢̧̡̞̹̮̳͕̲̬̥̖̹̩͈̬̟̬͖̼̟̮͔̩̪̼͇͎͔̰̲̻̎̋̽̀̉̔̀̍͒̋́͒̍̓̈͜e̷̢̢̢͔̯̱̙̠͓̖̹̅͘n̴̡̛̤͔̙̊̑͋͒̀̅̾̑̊̀́̈́́͐̉̐͌̾̽̆͂̅͛̿̐̕͘̕̚͝͝͝͠d̵̢̡̧̧̢͇͕͓̗̝̟͇̭͇̩̝̬̥̲̞̿̃̽ ̸̘̒͛͑͂̑͛́̃̎͆̐͌͂͊̿̈́̊̌͑̀̍̀̾̔̾̎̓̿̍̀̎̋̌̈́͂̚̕͘͘̚͠c̷̡̡̡̠̼͚̥̼͎͙̜̖̝͙̭͎͙͓̞̣̬̼̦͖̰͚̮̮͇͖͋̇̊̽̀̍͌͛̊̅̌̇̄̀͘͜͝ạ̸̡̨̧̢̢̨͓̤̣̖̪̳̥̝̫͚͖͙͍̞̘̤͎͔̼̬͚̻͔̠̻̟̙̱͓̦̥̪͉̘̳̾̇̈́͛̈́̍͛͆͐̆̎̽̃̊̍̍͛̅̐́͐̈́̽͒̇̍̌͌̆͘̕̚̚͠͠͝ͅͅͅͅņ̴̡̨̠̙̬͚̻͉̠̥̻͔̯̻̟̯̼̔͌́̎ ̴̧̢̢̢̛̘̬̣͇̙̮̮͔̼͓̩̰̙̫̤͓̙̠̪͕̱̥͉̩̠͉̻̝̼̺͚̜̑̌̋̈́̒͋̀̄̾̀͒̂͆́̓͐̀̉̀͛͋̃̊̓͂͆̒͌̐͘͜͜͝͠͠ͅͅb̸̧̡̢̝͇̗̭͎̭͈̠͍̰̟̖͎͚̣̩͉̭̞͎̬̖͉̠̅̓̂̾͒̃͌̎̆̈́͂͊̇̊͒̏͂̿̿͘̚͝ͅę̵̧̡̨̛̠̜̞̻̦̟̟̞͙͇͐̊̊͆̾̎͋͒́̂̆̾̀́̽̑̏͊͗͋̑̎̀̉̓̍̄̊̍̀̽͘͘͝c̵̢̛̫̬̙̑̈̈̏̐̂͑̐̈́̃̽̈́̽̀̎̔̿̑̍̽̈́̂͊̿́̍̆̈́̏̽͋̒̓̐́̽̋͊̕͘͠͝ơ̸̫̺͈̓̀̈́͒̀̃̌̿͂̽͊͗̆̃͆̈́̽͌̍̑̐̒̈̑̎̄́͒̀̍̅͘͘̕͠͝͠͠ͅm̴̧̧̡̡͉͕̩̪̠̳̫͙͉̲̜͖͚̬͕͖̰̪͔̻̙̈́̀̀̈̉̎̎̌̎̓̓͑̐̾͐̾̔̏͗̈́͌̎͝ȩ̷̡̖͍̪̙̺̗̳̰̜͚̥̻̪̘͓͕͓̞͓̺̦̳̳͉̲̙͈̰̱̱̲̱̬̲̈́͐̈͆̂̈́̎̎͗̌̇͂ͅ ̸̨̛̱͇̹̖͕̗͛̾̐̈̂̒̌̄̓͌̊́̈́̀̆͂̐͗̌̑̑̆͒̈̿̓̿̿͆͐̓̇̅̂́́̉͌̂̕͘͜͠͝y̷̛̛̰͉̖͙̝͉̟͊͌̉́̽́̍͊͒̐̋͑͒̍̂̿̌̏̒̿̌̌̽͊̐̍̈̃̅͛̕͝͠͠͝ͅö̴̻̥͙̭͙̖̙̣͖̻̞̦̰͇̥̜́̈́̈́͑̃͊̔̔̾͂͌̌̈̈͂̾̅̀͑͌̀̕͝͝ͅȕ̷̧̨̨̞͈͕̮̼̳͙͍̫̭̺͎͓̗͎̮̯̜̗̲̰̳̠͔͚̬͉̝̘̝̤̻̰͓̭̥̮̠͙͍̏́̃͌̀͋͐͂̈́̂͋͆̃̔́̑͒̋͐̒̑͗̇̓͒̍̊͋̊̽̒͑̿̎̀̇́̆̋̀̚͠͝͝͝r̴̨̦̼̫͇̳͚̻̮̯̝͋́̆̓́̐͆͒̃̽̔̏͂̈́̽͒̈́̉͋͒͋͒͛ ̵̢̝͍̻͙͓̼͖͙́̌̒̐̀̓̋͆̾̌͊̂̌͑̍̀̌̄̌̈́̐̅̋̑͊̄͌̇̈́̂̇̚̚̕͜͝͠é̷̙̟̟͔̤̩̩͇̫̖̥̟̗̤͈̟̀̇̾̅̾̏̇̄͆́̅̃̍̒̔̑͊̚̕͜͜͝͠͝͝n̸̨̨̨͉̯͔̘̩͉̘̠͉͖̻̪̲̼̫̖͔͈̫̗̰͇̰̣̫͎̖̭̻̖̭̬̯͓̣̣̱̊̓̊̽͛̾̑̉͂̅̓̊̊͂̀̊́̋̎̊̒̿͌̈͆͑͋̔͛͆͛̓̐͑̋̏̎͌̕̚͜͝͝͝͠ẽ̵̡̢̱̳̜͔͍͉͕̼̼͔̺̭̬̱̰͇̠̭͓͖͇̂̃́͠͝ͅm̶͍̞̃̌̒̇̄̈́̾̈́̊̏́̇̆̊̈́̅̌͂̀̌̍͠͝ͅy̵̡̡̢̢̢̨̯͖̼̠͍̙͎̤͍̼͈̣̻̭̩̬̺̻͚͙̭̻͔͇͇͙͖̭͚̳͉͉̺̎͋̂̀̔̇̓̚͜͜͜͠.̸̧̢͉̙̞̠̳̞̲̫̠̙̥͕͇̞̺͇̹̣̫̱͖̬̫̖̗̳̲̻͈̙̩͇̥̪̹͕͕̏͂̀̎̀̏͋̆͆̔̈́̌͛̓͊̉͋͑̏̚͘̕͜͠͠͠"̸̨̨̛̦̤̩̜̭͖̤̳̘̭̮͙͉̱̟̣̱̗̰̣͇̳̤̼̻̻͍̀̈́́̊͊̆̓̄̈́̈́̑̇̈̓̈́̍̀͂̉̏̌̽͑̉̉͗̀́͛̽̓̎̀̿̑̔̇̃͘̕͜͠͠

Ivette's legs creaked under the weight of truth.

Her beloved best friend stood hunched over a trembling body, a calloused fist approaching a face that looked similar to hers. Bruises littered a body that matched hers. Blood seeped out a nose that complemented her own. Katsuki Bakugo loomed over Izuku Midoriya, the latter's shirt twisted tightly in the former's other hand. Tears dribbled out of eyes that reflected her own, shimmering, saddened emeralds— jewels that broke because of the society they inhabited.

Katsuki Bakugo.

Izuku Midoriya.

The scene repeated in Ivette's hand.

Oh, my poor darling. Too young to understand the horrid situation at hand.

Allow me to ask you a question, my dears. When do you grow up? When do you no longer have a shred of youth within you? Does it stem from naivety? Or is it by the designated numbers assigned to the people by the beings that rule and corrupt the lands?

"I-Ivette–" Katsuki quickly dropped the quirkless loser to the ground. "We were just playing a game." Sweat lined his brows, and his developing adam's apple bobbed up and down. Fingers itched around his back, hiding the evidence of his mischief from Ivette.

It was more than mischief.

"̶̳̩̜̳̳̼̩̼̜̲͎̜̩̻̑͂͊̓̐̓̑͌́̽͑͌̓́̄̌͛H̶̢̢̲̰̩̼͇͔͉̪̟͓͉̩̠͙͙̭̪̩̱̻̓́͂̅͒̍̿̃̐̈̒̈͒̑́̀́̈́̕͝e̶̗͓͙̞̟̮̣̮̽̎̀̕͜͝ͅͅ'̷̣̼̭̲͈̣̼̔̋͗̈́͗̒͐̅̽̓̍̚̚͝͝͠s̶̨̛̖̳̲̗̟̰̹̽̄̽̾̈́̿̒͑͆̏͛͊̌̓̕͝ ̶̡̝̫͍̻̱͔̗̼͎͓̗̰̼̪̝̜͍̺̫͆͆͆̒̔͗͘͝l̶̙͖̩͒̋̈́̓̇̃y̶̧͇̭̩͖͉̦͚̟̬̏͛̐̂͒́̾̆̀̓̿̊̍̿͜͝͠͝͝į̶̯̣̲͉̭̼͈͇͙͖̘̮͈͙̦͆̆̿̀͂̈̅̿́̅̄̆̇̃̾͑̿͋̎̈́̕̕͜͠ͅń̶̘̭͖̪͌̒̇̇͐͋̉̌̈̇̇̈́͘͠͝͝͝ǵ̶̹̫͍̳̳̭̹̓͆͑͋̅͒̅́̈́̂̆̀̀͆̔̃̂̀̄͌̆͘̕ͅ.̵͇͇̺̞̗͕͒͜"̷̡̧̜̲̟̩̯̝͇͚̌́͜

"̸̨̯̱͍̫̮̹͈͉̝̼͖̈̿̌̂͒͋̇̈͜͝T̶̠̱̠̪͔̅͂̈̈́̂͒̈̎̓̃̈̈̕̚͘̕͝͠ḩ̷͈̘͇͖͔̩̞̞͔͔͉̱̪̙̹̯̲̬͒̈́͆́̀͝͝e̴͔͇̤̰͙̟̳͈͖̹͙̲͙͙̙̥̦͎̟̞̩̋̉̓̂̔̑̀̎̐̈̓́̕͘͜͝͠ỷ̴̖̣͇̞̱̹͈̱̳̫̽̑̉̀ ̸̡̡̢̡̛̥̤̦̰̮̗̰̪̞͍̲̭̻̱͓͎͍̞̦̠͍̪͔̈́̇͋̄͛̈́̿̽̅̍̾̀̽̃̉̑͂͌̀͋͘͝͝b̸̛͖̲͓̪̗̪̺̘̠̼͎͎̠̩̝̦̗͈͉̻̲̯̑ͅo̴̢̨̨̧̧̰̪̞̳̰̺̥̼̩̮̖̮̦͇͎̥̲̯̼͇̫̳̻̘͇̤͍͐͊͂̑͂̾͗̇̃͠͝t̵̖̙̘̀͌̌̌̉̏̒̿̇͂̇̀̿͝͝͠h̴̡̭̹̬̩̩͍̫͍̓̄̑̓̑͌̽͗͠ ̸̗̦̺̠̄̆h̷̡̢̨̯̲̫̰̫͕̲̘̩̹͔̼̔̾a̷̧͎͚͖͕̳̤̗̪͙̰͔̥̝͍͎̙͔̲̜̎̈̉̓̏̀͑͊͆̍̋͊͋͒͌̎͆̔͘͝͝v̶̛̘̫͖̼̆͋͑̓̋́̓̑͂̅̍͊͑̋͋̉̿͗̇͑̈́̈̃̒̃̕̕̚e̷̢̤̱͖͈̖̙͕̠̎̀̚ ̶̢̨̢̛̬̤̻͇̪̳͇̳̺̭͉̺̣͔͓͕̒̄̀͊̑̽̆̑̐̑͑̓̋́͐̄̋͒̾̿̀̄͆̇́̀̚͝͠͝b̵̡͖̳̦͈̭̝̯͓̪̠̭̺͎̯̫͉̝̰̤̤͘͜͜͜͜ͅͅẻ̷̡̢̧̺̭̦̜̜̪̯̫̟͙̹͓̩̮̜̼̹̬̱̝̩͕̲̇̉͐̒́͂̕̚͜͝ȩ̵̹̩͉̿̍͛̋̀̐̈́͐̈̽̃͗̈̍͘͝ņ̴͖̼͗̍̿̆̉̄͗̚.̶̛͍̻̇́͊͌̈́͌̓͆́͊̀͆͐́͐͆̊̀̋̂̒͛̏̽͛͊̈́̈̚̕͠"̸̢̠̫̲̩̱̮̟̤͕̱̠͈̙̤̟̖̳͎̙̭͊́̃͆̉̀̐̀̓́̇͐̋̌̈́͒̏̃̽̊͂̊̀̕͜͝

Hurt swept across her face.

It pierced her heart with two arrows.

Betrayal— bullying and lies.

"̸̨̧̢̼͉̞̩͎̼̗̟̘͙͖̼͒̍̉́̐̕E̴̡͚̝̗͔̥̤̘͈̰͎̭͍̹̖͚͓͕̟̬̪̘̗̫̜͇̯͗̊̐͒̓̀͛͐́̆̍̑̽̿̓̓̔̉̅̓̿̑͑̾͌̈́̓͋̅̚ͅv̵̨̢̨̱̝̳̰̺͈̘̳͕̙̱̜͔͙̞͇̞̖͓̳̲̿̈́̇͋̑̒ͅͅę̶̡͈̦̳͖͚̣̲̞͍̺͉̼̮͎̹͍̙͋́͒͊̊̿ṋ̸̨̦̹͓͓̣̺̮͔̻͕̘͎̯̰́̂̈͌̓̍̉̽͗͒͑͗̀͂͐͂̀̋̎͌͘ ̶̧̧͈̬̟̻̗̭̱̩̖͙͖̻͓̪̩̬̥͍̮̟̮̝̖̃͌̅̿͜͝h̶̛͍̓̐̽͐̒͊̅̀̃̈́̓͒̆̃̈́͂̒͘͠͠à̸̢̱̻̝͍̯̲̖͇͉̤͎̩̲̲̺̫̣̖̣͎̲̭̳̞̝̭͙͑ĺ̴̢̉̈̉̉̈́́̓̊̅̅̀͊̍͒̓̽̚̕͘̚͝͠͝f̸̢̳̦̻̩̟̪̼̙̘̫̟̣̯͎̮̰̥̿͒̀̆̒̌͑͗̇̄̏̔̂͜ ̵̧̛̛̛̠̫̜͉͕̞̜̦̦̹̯̣͚̠͙̱̗͍̣̲͇̯̳̘̞͇̙̮̲͚̿̓́̎̅̓͑̅͑̎̏̋̿̽̈́̈́̓̂̈̑̂̽͘͝ͅy̵̨̢̩͖̳̦̼̭̗̱̺͖̝̓͛̆͊̇̊́̑̒̑͂̏̀̃̏̿̅͐̌͂̒̋̋̎͘̕͠ö̴̧̡̢̢̨̖̻̦̪̞̖͕̭̭͈͈̱̳̭̲͕̼͍́͆͛̀͊́̒̿͝͝͝u̷̧̡̺̩̖̙̙͍͈͐̊́̃͑̓͛̓̽̇̀̈͋͑́̂̓̆͐̇́̆͜͝͝͝ŗ̶̨̗̣̳̞̱̹̫̰̺̻̟͕̙̤͕̪͎͈̦̳͖̭̈͌̑̏͋̉̒̂̃́̓̓̒̇̈́̂͗̋̈́̈͐̈́͂̕͝͝ͅ ̶̡̗̦͙̼̓͐͊̿͒̀͛̐́͂́̎͌̓͆̉͌́̊͒͑́̾̒s̷̢̨̨̛͙͚̲̬̺͓̦̘̥͖̫̯͖̞̣̭̗̮̘̣͎͖̼͉̯̑̌͐͋͐̆̿̐̊͛͑̐̿̍̈͌̆͋̽̕̚͜͝͝͝ő̶͇̠̟͐̽̂̂̐̆͊̈́̒̓̚ư̶̛̟̰̘̙̤̯͇̮̤̊͗̃̒̽̀̈̎͗l̷͖͍̩͕̫̉̉͑̓̀̂̏̉̍ ̶̙̤͔̙̥̭̜͉̑̄́̓̈́͒͐͆͠c̶̢̢̡̢̨̢͉̜̻̞̫̟̠̩̤͓̦̬̗̤̼͙͕̲̞̤̟͚͈̦̮͖͌̅͋͜͝á̵̢̧̢̛͉̤̻̼͈͍̺̭̬̪̜̤͚̙̙̱̺̳̘̮̥̥̱͔̙͉̊͐̆́̃͑͒́̈͗̈̀͜͠͠n̴̡̛̜̬͈̹͓͔̰̝͙̱̜̱͓̪̯̜̮̖̩͙̲̰̖̬̮͎̪̼̼̩̗̊͛̏̅̓̓͒͆͌̆̓̍͑͌͒͑͛͛̃͗͐̆̒̈́̎̃̉̕͜͠͠͠ ̵̩̹͉̙̱̲̯̥̳̦͚̈́͂̀̊̂̄̓̾̓͗̐́͒͠w̷̤̋͠o̸̡̡̡̟̟̬̗̘͉͑̄̈́͂͘͘u̵̳͉̥̥̼͔̬̜̞̳̗̘̠̝̤͚͕̞͐͋̾̈́͒̿̎̅̏̽̀̒̌̄̏̀̆͛̈́̂͌͗̓̚͜͠͝ͅņ̴̡̛̳̻̠͉̤͕̩̩̼̟̩̥̣̼̤̩̫̹͈̬͎̎̄͆̂͑̄̓̇́͗̆̈͋́̕͜͝ḑ̷̧̛̦͖̥̟̫̣͖͚͕͇̩̙̠͖̹͖̣͙̺̿̑͑̎̓̆̊̾͝ ̸̧̡̢̛̝͎͚̗̬̯̖̘̘̹̱̞̠͔̠͖̳͊͆̂̃̏̑͌͘͘͜͜y̴̡̧̢̨̢̻̠͉̪̪̬͕̪̪̩̦̅̔̌̈̏̌̌̋̐̌͆̈́̋̋̇͐͐͌̀̃͋̽̉̑̌́̈́͋̒̍̅ő̷̢̧̟̖̖̼̬̦̟̹͔̠̼̫̯̺̫̦̥̳̟̈́̅͜ư̷̧̗̝͖̻̪͒̿̎͌͆̋͋͗͗̌̒̋͗̅̿̑̍͂͂̌̽̆́̀̈́́͐̈́̾̽͗͝.̴̛̛̥͈͔̼̜̘̘̭̣̜̰͚̣̺͛̅̓̄̄͛̒͌̐̓̏͛͜͝"̴̧̧͇̪̲̫̳͇͖͙͎͖͙̰̻̟͍̤̘̫̏̐͌͌͜ͅͅͅͅ

No words left Ivette's lips. Nothing.

She walked up to her twin brother, ignoring the hurt look on Katsuki's face. He had no right to be upset. Ivette knew that. She didn't need someone to tell her what was right or wrong; no person or shadow could change her feelings right now. Her heart wept in her chest, solemnly, forlornly. And its cries were followed by a mighty, rage-filled roar.

Grabbing Izuku's arm, she gently pulled him up. An ark snaked around his waist, and she directed him to his feet, waiting until he fixed his balance. Emerald eyes took notice of the way he flinched when her fingers brushed against his right torso. They narrowed.

"Alright?"

"Yeah."

No one dared to move.

Not when something sinister seemed to emit off Ivette. Haunting, translucent shadows stared at them, wicked and sadistic. Come a few years, they would forget that anything of the sort happened. Ivette was quirkless, after all. It must have been their imagination.

But Bakugo would remember her words:

"You're so cruel, Katsuki."

And that was the last words Katsuki Bakugo had ever heard her voluntarily speak to him. It was also the last time he heard his first name slip from her lips.

Ivette Midoriya, his princess, was no longer his. And it was all his fucking fault.

Alas, one must sow what they reap.