Moonspear do you speak?

"It does not feel like I am." Her words hissed with a pulling toward a cry, but she held firm. Desdemona couldn't remember the last time she had felt this way, perhaps it was when her mother had passed. She remained stone-cold, ever since, even when her brother had passed, there was no tears shed, only regret, and hatefulness toward home.

Perhaps all the emotions she held was finally spilling over, all what she had was, was now coming forward. She only wished to yell, and let it forth. Faster, she felt, stronger, did she go. Her legs burned with each stride, but she wanted to let it go. Let it be free, but it felt hard. A howl of sorrow, of anger and needing.

However as she ran, she didn't know what was ahead.. Just darkness, she ran.