That Prince Is A Girl: The Vicious King's Captive Slave Mate.
The Jilted Heiress' Return To The High Life
Rejected No More: I Am Way Out Of Your League, Darling!
My Coldhearted Ex Demands A Remarriage
Pampered By The Ruthless Underground Boss
His Unwanted Wife, The World's Coveted Genius
The Unwanted Wife's Unexpected Comeback
The Warlord's Lovely Prize
Secrets Of The Neglected Wife: When Her True Colors Shine
Celestial Queen: Revenge Is Sweet When You're A Zillionaire Heiress
๐๐ธ๐ฟ๐ฎ ๐ถ๐ฎ ๐ช๐ผ ๐ท๐ธ ๐ธ๐ท๐ฎ ๐ฌ๐ช๐ท !!!
~๐น๐๐๐๐๐๐ฆ ๐โ๐๐ก ๐โ๐๐๐ก ๐๐๐๐๐ ๐๐ ๐๐๐๐ ๐๐ ๐๐๐๐ ๐ข๐๐๐,๐๐ก๐๐๐๐๐ ๐๐ค๐๐ฆ ๐ผ ๐๐๐๐ โ๐๐ ๐๐๐๐๐๐๐๐ ๐ โ๐๐๐๐ค,๐ป๐๐ ๐๐๐๐๐๐ก ๐๐๐๐๐๐,๐๐๐ฅ๐๐ ๐ก ๐ ๐๐๐๐๐๐๐๐ ๐กโ๐ ๐คโ๐๐ก๐ ๐ค๐๐๐๐ ๐๐ ๐ ๐๐๐๐๐ ๐ ,๐๐๐ ๐๐ข๐๐๐๐๐ ๐กโ๐๐๐๐๐๐.
๐โ๐ฆ ๐กโ๐ ๐๐ข๐๐ ๐ผ ๐ ๐ข๐๐๐๐๐๐๐๐๐ ๐ ๐๐๐???~v=
BEFORE ***
๐ข๐ช๐ฝ๐พ๐ป๐ญ๐ช๐ ๐๐ธ๐ป๐ท๐ฒ๐ท๐ฐ
I hesitantly get up to remode in the morning star's face, God shakes my head up and my eyes tell me the day was going to be a big nothingness. I see red rays coloring my lazy blues and covering my shitty skin in different warmth.
The warmth of:
"Fuck it, get up, Luna "
Honestly did what my ass couldn't do...
As I try to drag the cupboard's drawer, unhappily it gets broken like the other half expected-so life. I scream out loud by swearing:
"Not again! Ahhh...Go to hell !"
Nervously hit the parmaque with bare fingers and ๐ฐ๐ถ๐ค๐ฉ* eye-opened see entire hesitation turning into a bloody, meaningless day. I clutch my knee as hard to hamper hurting from possessing my good omen. I put clothes on and screeching, bad fabric untie...I see under me and wow like a MESS.
"This, huh...God !"
Moaning, sacrificing time I turn my hazel hair as fast as can upwards. Tie them and meanwhile keep wearing the naughty other, grey jeans.
With one breathe, brown-colored bags and books hump into my back quirkily-staring my laziness, walking down the dark mazes of conviction: "Sorority NEW YORK COLLEGE OF LANGUAGES "
EYES IRREGULARLY RUN THROUGH DESPERATE HALLWAYS AND IRRITATED crash my haste into some sort of Antic Walls.
Finally, find the way out of boredom and castle of "Noone's".
๐ ๐ฎ๐บ ๐ฎ๐น๐๐ฎ๐๐ ๐๐ฒ๐ฎ๐ฟ๐ถ๐ป๐ด ๐๐ต๐ฒ ๐ท๐ถ๐ป๐ด๐น๐ถ๐ป๐ด ๐ท๐๐ป๐ธ๐, ๐ฏ๐ฟ๐ฎ๐ฐ๐ฒ๐น๐ฒ๐,๐๐ต๐ถ๐ฐ๐ต ๐ป๐ฒ๐๐ฒ๐ฟ ๐๐๐ผ๐ฝ๐ ๐ณ๐ฟ๐ผ๐บ ๐ต๐ฎ๐ป๐ด๐ถ๐ป๐ด ๐ถ๐ป ๐๐ต๐ฒ ๐๐ถ๐ฝ๐ ๐ผ๐ณ ๐บ๐ ๐๐๐ฝ๐ถ๐ฐ๐ฎ๐น ๐ต๐๐ฟ๐ฟ๐ ๐ ๐ข๐๐.
๐ฆ๐๐ข๐๐ฆ ๐ช๐๐๐๐ ๐ฅ๐จ๐ก๐ก๐๐ก๐ ๐๐ฅ๐ ๐ฆ๐๐๐ฃ๐ฃ๐๐ก๐ ๐ง๐๐ ๐๐ก๐ ๐ฆ๐จ๐๐๐๐ก๐๐ฌ ,๐๐๐ ๐ง๐ข ๐๐จ๐๐ ๐๐ง* ๐๐ต๐ฒ๐ ๐๐ป๐ธ๐ป๐ผ๐.๐ช๐ถ๐ณ๐ณ ๐๐ต๐ฎ๐ธ๐ฒ๐ ๐๐ต๐ฒ ๐๐ฒ๐ฟ๐ ๐ฑ๐ฒ๐ฒ๐ฝ ๐ผ๐ณ ๐บ๐ ๐ป๐ฒ๐๐ฒ๐ฟ ๐ธ๐ป๐ผ๐๐ป ๐๐ฝ๐ถ๐ฟ๐ถ๐.
New York is in chaos as the little grey mixed in the blue sky seems so missed up and rushed.
Thousands of people, cars driving feet, tires lunatic...
*Writhing in fear and collapse of losing work, I put my ass into a long-running marathon, hair caught by the breeze and a very weak-quality ribbon made of pink. While clashing head to head with people of the same hurry, I hide my "wig" under, glaring at the brazen, tormented, grey sidewalk.
Hurrying and gasping impossibly, stepping into high grounds and sighing deranged. Lost of orientation, Little Nokia of Melancholia calls me out, hardly digging for it by the bottom of brown, leather, a bit-nicked case, I open angrily: