To her it wasn’t something that elicited a bellowing roar or revenge to be had against every pair of lovers in the city. It was quiet. It was a harrowing pain deep in her chest. It was shame and guilt for wanting something so desperately she drove herself mad pursuing it only for her to be cast out and looked down upon by it. She tore the feathers off the wings on her back to be grounded but the ground pulled her so far she was always looking up. Others could only see how long her face hung in a yielding manner. It made her weak. It made the world taste bitter. And she too became bitter. Small weak and bitter.