Her heart, this frail little thing, it wasn’t broken. It was shattered. What he said to her, what he told her, it broke her beyond repair; he threw her away like the crushed, used toy she was. He saw her as nothing, had shown her she was nothing. And she believed him. She believed him she was gone, that she was nothing worth fixing, and as she stares at herself in this form, the form of a girl, but she knows she’s nothing but a silhouette. And as she stares at the red, the beautifully dull red, dripping down her arms, she knows, knew that this was all she was worth. All that she was ever going to be worth.

    As she heard the crashing of cries when her mother found her, she could feel herself already slipping away, almost like she was a dream that no one could ever remember.  Like a forgotten toy in the midst of never being found, she was gone.