She used to want an escape, now she doesn't want to go anywhere. Holding onto self motivation, she honestly believed she was set apart from the rest and for good reason—she was special. There was something to her, no one else had. As confirmed by her older sister, she had always stayed the same. Never changing. Not from when she was six, not when she was sixteen. Her thoughts were always stable, her IQ always above average, her personality flirtatious and charming. But once she was home, that act was gone. Always outside or asleep if others were around. Always awake all night, as sleep would never come. Caffeine was her way of surviving stress; music was her way of dreaming. As she grew older she discovered herself more. She found the ins and outs of every problem; engulfing herself in research. Being probably the most relatable person, she had a way of reaching everyone, straight to the heart. She could make sense of anything, and handle every situation calmly, no matter how serious and chaotic it was. There was a passive peace to her mind that very rarely was ignited and blown. Double cross her, you would surely regret it. Fiery and intelligent there was no outwitting her. Trusting, yet cautious, there was no outsmarting her. Using her was easy as she would lend a hand multiple times. She would turn away no one. But that wasn't to say you hadn't wrecked a friendship. One you would have wished for later on down the line. They said her heart was bigger than anyone's. They said she had a heart of metal. She would always be there, always unfazed. Always caring, always meeting others, always social. She would search for others in need, making sure she never had down time. She always had control no matter what. Even in her breakdowns she would not allow the situation to get out of hand. She would drop anything no matter how personal if it meant changing the life of another. Every life was worth the world to her.
Death followed her like a lost cat. It would always lurk with her, sit with her, and be with her. Truthfully, I believe even he enjoyed her presence. What went on insider her head, was rather a different story. Conversing with herself, she could talk herself out of any ruthless matter. It was no wonder of course when the masochism was discovered. Another knew before her. Giving it a name, she researched it. Yes, the thrill. Finally the thrill was there. The spark burned brighter. Through this she came alive. Always so mentally damaged from taking on the lives and abuse from others, physical pain held such a relief. Such an immense feel of belonging, warmth covered every square inch of her body. But one day, he too was gone. Leaving her back to stand on her own two feet. The only real understanding friend she had, once more leaving her to coexist in shadows. They took advantage of her, put her down and beat her until she was left in the dirt. Left wishing for a death wish of her own. But Death refused. Death would not answer her prayer. He stared at her long and hard. He would trick her on occasion, making her believe the struggle was over; but it wasn't. He would try to enlighten her. Had she become the only thing he had grown fond of? There was something in her ways. Her selfless, giving ways. A depressed wreck one moment, a smiling goddess the next. Eyes even an angel would beg for. He tried to comfort her. Show her she wasn't alone. That she didn't need to worry. Sign after sign he attempted to make her believe. Believe in herself.
Little by little he watched the light dimming. Grey eyes once blue, they hid a collection of lies behind their walls. He'd call her to mirrors just to view those pretty eyes, longing for a reunion of her spark. She was dying. In a time of desperation he turned to his enemy, begging God for an agreement. Happiness he begged for, someone to hold her. It didn't last long. Acting as all the others, this angel of "purity" took advantage of her every action, before returning to continue his given-privileged life on earth. God and his angels laughed. Death was outraged. Slowly, he watched the little light left gliding up towards her throat. Writing, earlier being a main passion, she only found pain in. Body weak with exhaustion, she could never rest. Pain stalked her limbs and her head. Calls to the mirror made things worse. He had never seen skin so pale before. She slumped to continue her daily tasks, until one day she refused to move from bed. Not even the stack of quilts he had left brought comfort, or any sins of pleasure he had tried to leave. As the light dimmed, the colours on her back appeared. Until one night she fell drastically ill. Through her fit of coughing, he prayed once more her life be saved. His prayer was not answered. Body frail and fragile he watched her fade. He would not let the cause for her pain take her. Holding tight to her soul, he used all energy he had left from his non-existent heart. From the flame of a candle, her soul was warmed, her body once more returning in front of him. Wings of orange, resembling a butterfly newly cascaded down her back. She looked curiously at him, as he pulled her into his arms, holding her tight. His chill no longer there, he kissed her lightly. She would be loved. Even if the angels had turned away, he wouldn't.