Fallen

She sat quietly staring outside for a long time. Her parents had gone to bed long ago, but she stayed awake, staring unseeingly at the stars that twinkled above her. She hung her head in despair, allowing more tears to cascade down her cheeks as she ran a shaking hand through her short wavy hair.

She stood and calmly walked over to the full length mirror that had long been in place on the back of her bedroom door and she frowned at what she saw there. Hazel eyes blinked benignly, swimming with more tears. Her lips quirked slightly at the corners and then the small smile was gone as she sank back to the floor and pulled a purple and blue make-up box over to her. She unclasped the lid and stared down at the contents. Bright multicolors glared accusingly up at her and she folding the top dishes out of the way, revealing the darker colors underneath.

Sighing, she wiped impatiently at the tears and refused to let another fall. They did her no good on any account. She glanced up into the mirror and shook her head before returning to her task. The first thing she with drew from the box with a small round dish that contained white powders. She rubbed this on hurriedly and then pulled out a small round contained and pried the lid off of it revealing a shimmering black eyeshadow that made her eyes seem slightly enlarged, the color shifting to a deeper green. Withdrawing a tube of lipstick, she smirked as she read the name on the bottom of the tube. Black Rose. How fitting that the last of her make up she applied should be named after the flower once used to represent death…

Rubbing the tube slowly across her lips she didn’t look back into the mirror until she was finished.

Staring back at her was not the girl that had been hurt so many times by all those she loved and considered her family. No, this was someone else. Sne wne who wouldn’t stand for that kind of pain ever again. The words couldn’t hurt this girl. The accusations couldn’t reach her, and the past could never afflict her.

She leaned over slightly and lifted a small box from the top of her desk. She flipped the lid open with a casualness that many would have found unnerving with her present state of mind. Her eyes seemed to smolder and then darken again as she trailed her fingers lightly over the ten inches of cold comfort.

It was beautiful.

The blue grey steele of the blade glittered in the moonlight that fell through her window. There was a satisfying click as she lifted the small dagger from its cushioned home and closed the lid in one move. The dark red handle fitted easily into her hand, as though it had been made for her, and her eyes glowed eerily as she stared into the mirror.

It was effortless, really. Placing the blade on the inside of her arm, she slowly dragged it in a straight line from her elbow until she reached her wrist where she curved the cut downward, carefully bypassing the important veins in her wrist. She watched for a moment as blood ran down her arm and dripped to the floor before lifting the dagger again. Setting it an inch above the bleeding line she once more began to drag the steele over her flesh, watching as the blade sank into her flesh partially and cut across the other cut. She repeated this over and over, nearly twenty times, until her arm was riddled with blood. Each of the smaller cuts ran over the long one. It was a symbol to her.

The long cut was her soul, and each cut that crossed it represented one of two things. The first were those who betrayed her. The second those she failed. It was funny really, because those she had failed were several times those who had betrayed her as well, or else many more cuts would have been added. She raised her eyes slowly, looking back into the mirror.

Her black lips twitched slightly as she cleaned the blade slowly and sat it back into the box. Her words were said quietly, and only her ears heard them. “Just another fallen angel…”