Chapter Two: What the Fire Found

Ash didn’t step into the clearing right away.

He stood back, half-submerged in shadow, watching her like a wolf watches the tremble of a deer’s ribs—half from hunger, half from reverence.

She wasn’t running now.

She had run, of course. He’d tracked her through the brambles and broken branches, the dress torn, her breath ragged and wild in the trees. But somethin...

Chapter One

Ruin Me Right

⸻

I ran because I needed to know he would catch me.

The forest was too quiet, like it knew what was coming. Like it had seen this before—the girl who runs, not to escape, but to be devoured. Dusk painted the trees in bruises and blood, and I ran headlong into it. The air clung like breath on the edge of a kiss. My feet stung against the damp earth. Every scratch from ...

She left him

but he didn’t leave her.

He’s in every mirror.

Every quiet room.

Every time she second-guesses herself

before speaking.

Her ex-husband never hit her.

He didn’t have to.

He rewired her

from the inside out.

Used love like leverage.

Praise like bait.

Withheld affection

until she begged for it

like a starving dog.

She lived in gaslight.

Slept beside a stranger

who called her “too sensi...

**My Daddy, my Master, my Love—**

I don’t know how to say sorry in a way that feels like enough.

Sometimes I say things I don’t mean.

Sometimes I scream.

Sometimes I push you away with words so sharp, I flinch after they leave my mouth.

And I hate it.

I hate that I have this thing in me—this disorder, this fire, this broken wiring—that turns love into war when I’m scared. And God, Daddy, I get s...

I made room for her.

Cleared a space at the table

with trembling hands

and a heart I swore

was brave enough

for all of us.

I said,

_“Talk to her.”_

_“Feel with her.”_

_“If it’s there, chase it.”_

And God—

I meant it.

I meant it even when it choked me.

I thought I was being strong.

Thought love meant letting him bloom,

even if I wilted a little

in the shadow

of what they used to be.

She was an ...

My childhood wounds ripped open when I became a mother—

spilled out like guts from a carcass.

Ugly.

Unavoidable.

Everywhere.

Before that,

I didn’t think about my childhood.

Not really.

It was bad, sure.

But I got through it.

That was that.

Or so I thought.

Then—

I saw her.

My daughter.

Hazel eyes like mine.

Same face.

Same softness.

Untouched.

Still whole.

And I cracked.

Right there—

holding h...

you never let anyone see you.

not really.

you smile like a mask,

touch like you’re flinching,

love like it’s a secret

you’re ashamed to admit.

i break in ways you can’t understand.

loud, messy, always spilling over.

i cry too fast,

love too hard,

and wait for you to leave

before you’ve even walked away.

we made her.

four months old.

our little girl,

soft and perfect and innocent

to all the quiet...

It starts small—

a shift in tone,

a breath too sharp,

a glance that feels off.

Her brain lights up like a battlefield:

_He’s mad. He’s tired of me. He’s going to leave._

She asks,

**_Are you okay?_**

He says,

**_Yeah, I’m fine._**

But his “fine” feels like the first crack

before everything shatters.

And then it hits—

a tidal wave of too much.

Her thoughts spiral fast:

_What did I do?_

_Why is h...

I don’t ask you to be gentle.

I ask you to mean it.

To press me past the edges

where I stop pretending I’m whole.

You say kneel, and I drop—

not because I’m weak,

but because you strip the world away

until there’s only truth:

your voice,

my breath,

the space between pain and worship.

I wear your grip like scripture,

written in fingers, in teeth,

in bruises blooming like dark flowers

on skin that...

say it softly,

like I’m your favorite

thing to ruin gently.

tell me I’ve done well

with your mouth

against my neck

hands heavy with pride

call me a good girl

watch me bloom,

wild and wet

just for you

baby,

i’ve waited my whole life

to be told

i’m enough

like this....