the lost generation: phoenixMature

chapter three: diary
phoenix; by dumbledoreisgod


Dear diary,

She's so beautiful. Everytime I see her, my heart nearly jumps out of my throat. I love her. I love Wynter.

She's been acting strange though, lately, and I'm worried about her. She's been really on edge. I feel like she wants to tell me something, but she's afraid to. She keeps hesitating over her words. Choosing each one slowly and carefully. Wynter is keeping something from me.. I need to speak to her. I'll write again soon.

Phoenix - 1.46 pm, January 28th 1925


Dear diary,

I know now. I know what she is. But now that she's told me, it's just made it worse. She won't talk to me. Her eyes are wide all the time. She keeps shaking. And she's getting really, really skinny. I can see her bones sticking out even when she's in her knitted jumpers. I don't know why she's starving herself.. It's a bit absurd, if I'm honest.

I want to be like her, but I can't let her find out. I don't think I love her anymore. I just want it. I want everything that she has. I don't really care about her. I just need her to make me like her. This will work.

Phoenix - 10.32 pm, February 3rd 1925


Dear diary,

I think she knows. I'm going to see her. I don't think I have much time.

9.08 pm, February 12th 1925



I know you want to be like me. For your own selfish little reasons. That's it. I'm done. I had a feeling you never really cared about me. You're alone now. I couldn't care less. I'll turn you, and then you'll see how hard this life is, and you can do it all by yourself. I'm sick of living forever. Everybody you love dies anyway, and you don't want to turn the people you love. That's selfish and sick. I have no problem turning you, though, darling little Phoenix.. I don't love you either.

P.S. I'm turning you at midnight. Happy bloody Valentines day.

Wynter - 11.58pm, February 13th 1925

Phoenix closed his battered, 86 year old leather diary. He looked out of his grimy window and for a split second, he could have sworn he saw Wynter standing in the mist coating the trees, a smirk stitched onto her pale face.


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