Wapun Meadow bébé ils ne veulent pas de toi

A goal. Focus.

She had those hopes and dreams once, when things were idyllic and less all-consuming. When the world had been better through her sight, more vivid. When abandonment hadn't been on the forefront of everyone's mind, nor the grave act she would commit.

Phoebe huffed sofltly, to herself.

"I'm not sure I'd know what a purpose is. At least for myself." Perhaps her purpose had been to roam alone for turning tail on her family, an apt punishment for delivering another blow to their fragile grouping. Her head shook dismissively.

"I haven't exactly been apart of anything for a long time now," came her quiet admission. "Do you know what that's like?"

Perhaps he did, given his tactics.

Every action had a reason, her mother had told her once.