Ning Xia lay in bed reading a novel.
It was a fanfic based on a childhood cartoon, but it was delicate and tender, entirely removed from the cheerful, zany fairy-tale world.
It was a story about unrequited love. It was nothing earth-shattering, but it moved Ning Xia to floods of tears.
She lay in bed, biting the ear of her panda pillow, while pain in her chest spread like vines to every fingertip.
Sigh. This level of emotional masochism had become the norm for her. Angsty stories, especially ones with a strong sense of realism, were an indispensable part of her otherwise uneventful, secretly frightening life, a way to feel her own heartbeat.
Well, it only leans a little toward yuri - -
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