"Exceptions are deadly."
The phrase was running through her mind, as she moved through the streets to her little hide-away. It was tiny and sparsely decorated. A little hole in the wall to throw everyone off her true trail.
"Exceptions are deadly."
Her whole existence was the exception to the rule. The little rich girl had everything but her parent's love. She was always left in the care of nannies or by herself as she grew older. It was as if she only existed to show the world they were a happy family. It was a sham.
"Exceptions are deadly.
It was always one activity or another. Acrobatics, martial arts, etiquette, decorum. Everything was a contradiction. She never had friends beyond those that knew she had money. She knew it too...
The money gave her in roads into the party scenes. It allowed her to get her hands on drugs, alcohol... The thrill was there, but she was left feeling empty.
"Exceptions are deadly."
Then came the accident. They never caught the one that supplied the alcohol. The driver of the car was killed on impact. He cripple a 12 year old girl that had been playing nearby. It rattled her to no end. She still had a conscience. She would never forgive herself. The parents would never know that the mysterious donor that paid for the medical bills and set up a scholarship for their daughter was the person that was ultimately responsible for her injuries.
Only one person would ever know and she was not telling. It felt good to atone in her own way. Her conscience would never by clear, but she could live with herself now and atone.
"Exceptions are deadly."
There came a time when she needed another thrill. It was in her blood. But this time the thrill was in taking from those that had gained through the suffering of others. It was never money, but always something of value. It was always something that her victims could not afford to go to the police about.
If she knew who the piece truly belonged too, they would find it returned to them. If not, she knew a few fences that could turn it into easy cash. 1/2 that cash would go into some sort of charity, the rest would fund her activities. Weapons, tools, different hiding places.
Her family funded the other part of her lifestyle. She stopped living for the party, instead public ally taking up just causes. Opening a shelter, Giving to an orphanage... Her father turned his back on her works, just as he turned his back on her.
"Exceptions are deadly."
"(vq) You don't know the half of it..."
The phrase was running through her mind, as she moved through the streets to her little hide-away. It was tiny and sparsely decorated. A little hole in the wall to throw everyone off her true trail.
"Exceptions are deadly."
Her whole existence was the exception to the rule. The little rich girl had everything but her parent's love. She was always left in the care of nannies or by herself as she grew older. It was as if she only existed to show the world they were a happy family. It was a sham.
"Exceptions are deadly.
It was always one activity or another. Acrobatics, martial arts, etiquette, decorum. Everything was a contradiction. She never had friends beyond those that knew she had money. She knew it too...
The money gave her in roads into the party scenes. It allowed her to get her hands on drugs, alcohol... The thrill was there, but she was left feeling empty.
"Exceptions are deadly."
Then came the accident. They never caught the one that supplied the alcohol. The driver of the car was killed on impact. He cripple a 12 year old girl that had been playing nearby. It rattled her to no end. She still had a conscience. She would never forgive herself. The parents would never know that the mysterious donor that paid for the medical bills and set up a scholarship for their daughter was the person that was ultimately responsible for her injuries.
Only one person would ever know and she was not telling. It felt good to atone in her own way. Her conscience would never by clear, but she could live with herself now and atone.
"Exceptions are deadly."
There came a time when she needed another thrill. It was in her blood. But this time the thrill was in taking from those that had gained through the suffering of others. It was never money, but always something of value. It was always something that her victims could not afford to go to the police about.
If she knew who the piece truly belonged too, they would find it returned to them. If not, she knew a few fences that could turn it into easy cash. 1/2 that cash would go into some sort of charity, the rest would fund her activities. Weapons, tools, different hiding places.
Her family funded the other part of her lifestyle. She stopped living for the party, instead public ally taking up just causes. Opening a shelter, Giving to an orphanage... Her father turned his back on her works, just as he turned his back on her.
"Exceptions are deadly."
"(vq) You don't know the half of it..."