Can you keep a secret?⁣

I grew up sick.⁣
⁣
Let me clarify.⁣
⁣
I grew up believing that real love stories include a martyr or demand great sacrifice to be worthy.⁣
⁣
Because of that, I believed it, because I made myself believe it, and I bred the most masochistic of romantic hearts, which resulted in my illness.⁣
⁣
When I lived this story, my own twisted fairy tale, it was unbeknownst to me at the time because I was young and naïve. I gave into temptation and fed the beating beast, which grew thirstier with every slash, every strike, every blow.⁣
⁣
Triple Falls wasn’t at all what it seemed, nor were the men that swept me under their wing. But in order to keep them, I had to be in on their secrets.⁣
⁣
Secrets that cost us everything to keep.⁣
⁣
That’s the novelty of fiction versus reality. You can’t re-live your own love story, because by the time you’ve realized you’re living it, it’s over. At least that was the case for me and the men I trusted my foolish heart to.⁣
⁣
Looking back, I’m convinced I willed my story into existence due to my illness.⁣

⁣⁣And all were punished.

I pulled an all-nighter reading Flock and my mind is reeling. I really wasn’t sure what to expect from the plot because the synopsis is frustratingly ambiguous. Now that I’m familiar with this very original story, I’m still trying to process what I read.

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