Betty staggers when she realised that her love is returned but with strings attached... What kind of man demands perfection when he himself is far from it? A man with perhaps the biggest flaw of all but one who she loves with all her heart. What did she do wrong? She only needs her man to stand by her and love her the same way she does every single day of her otherwise troubling life..
Veronica on the other hand, entertains his advances but pushes him away. Unsure, unwilling, then willing but yet still unsure. Her usual confidence in herself shaken, she is fighting herself more than she is fighting him.
He stands alone in this. Torn. Carving a smile on his face when faced with society, confronted with reality. He has never felt like this before and he hates every waking moment, every moment of pure agonising confusion. Yet he dreams of V, unpredictable lucid snapshots in his sleep that scratch the back his subconscious when he wakes, fingernails on the blackboard of his mind.
A cauldron of emotions, blinded willful denials, politickal scavengers and the end of things as they know it.
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