ARIANNA (UNHOLY TRINITY #5) BY ADRIANA BRINNE EPUB & PDF – eBook Details Online
- Author: Adriana Brinne
- Language: English
- Formats: PDF / EPUB
- Status: Available for Download
- Series: None
- Price: Free
- File Size: 2 MB
ARIANNA
Broken Crowns
“Smile, sweet girl.
Don’t let them see you in pain.”
— Nonna
Love is a lie.
Love is not forever.
Love dies.
Love sometimes fools the weak and the hopeless. Two things I am not.
However, sometimes it creeps in, blindsiding me and leaving me
defenseless against it.
Against the warmth.
Even when I count to three, breathe, and focus on rebuilding the
unshakable fortress that guards my heart. The warmth remains until I gather
the strength to rid myself of it.
How do I do that?
I kill it, of course.
As I have killed everything else that made me weak and vulnerable.
Everything that does not serve me a purpose.
“Pretty.” My baby sister, Mila, pulls roughly on my hair, trying to stir
my attention away from the corny political commercials playing on the big
screen and onto her.
Politics.
How tedious.
However, nonna finds it amusing and enjoys watching the world news
with us when she comes to visit. I choose to believe it is her way of
showing her granddaughters there is more to this world than what we see
and experience inside these cold and loveless walls.
Mila yanks on my hair once again, reminding me that she is here.
Like I could ever forget.
She’s all that’s good about me.
The light to my dark.
The beauty to my ugly.
My sanity.
Both my sisters are.
“Yes, you are very pretty, stelina.” I try to muster a genuine smile for
her. Only for her. She deserves better than what awaits her. Better than what
greets her every time our father comes home mad at the world.
Mad at us.
Disappointed in the cards the bastard was dealt.
Yet, smiling never comes naturally to me. It makes me feel awkward
and fake, which I hate. It is so easy for everyone else but not me.
Nothing is ever easy.
“No, no, no.” My little sister shakes her small head while pulling on my
hair three times. It has been a habit of hers since she was a baby. Although I
have never seen her pull on our sister Kadra’s hair or nonna’s. She only
does it to me.
“Anna. Anna, pretty.” Mila shakes her head wildly while giggling.
How does she do it? I don’t know, but I never feel cold when she is in
my arms. It is the only time I allow myself to feel anything other than
perpetual emptiness and coldness.
Her words warm my half-broken heart.
Anna. Anna, pretty.
I don’t have the heart to tell her that she is wrong. That I am not pretty.
Not like her.
Not like most girls.
I am ugly on the inside.
Pretty girls don’t feel rage.
Don’t feel jealous.
They are not rotten, slowly decaying on the inside with every breath
they take.
They are not me, and I will never be them.
I am what I am.
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