She stood in line beside her best friends, just as she had all her life. Her arms were still extended, holding her heart our as an offering to all who passed by. This was her life; it always had been. One by one, others were selected, their hearts taken by a Heart-taker who had accepted their offering. Sometimes the Chosen would return to the line, the pieces of their hearts in their hands, until another Heart-taker came who was willing to pick up the pieces and stitch them back together. But she just stood, arms outstretched, hoping. Not once had she been chosen. Her friends told her she was lucky, if her heart was never taken, it could never be broken. Little did they know that every time someone walked by without glancing at her even once, a tiny, invisible dart punctured her heart until it was covered in cracks and riddled with holes. Then she would pull it toward her, hiding it from the world, and she would cry, and where her tears fell on her beating, bleeding heart, it healed, and a new layer spread over. Each time that it hurt so badly she cried, her heart grew, until it was big enough and so filled with love that she could truly be happy for others when they became Chosen. It still hurt when her friends were taken from around her until she was isolated, alone and unwanted. Sometimes it hurt so badly that she just wanted life to end, but she never let anyone see her cry. Her friends would visit her with their Heart-takers; she enjoyed their visits, but there was always a bitter aftertaste. She saw how happy they were, and she rejoiced for them, but at the same time, she envied them. All she wanted, all she had ever wished and prayed for, was theirs. All she had ever asked from life, was for someone to love her, but day after day passed and still no one looked her way. Then, a Heart-taker stopped and turned her way. He stepped closer and closer, reached toward her, and turned again to take another's broken heart. She had been so sure he was coming to her. The pain of it took her breath away, and right there and then, her crumbled like dried-out clay in her hands. She stood there, looking at the soft red clumps that had been her heart. She refused to cry; she wouldn't show her weakness, but oh how she wished there was someone to put it back together. She wished with all her might that someone would come and fix it with love, just as she had seen others' repaired. That single wish broke her will and the pain she had reined in broke free. She bent double and sobbed. Her heart-wrenching cries filled the air as the unbearable pain ripped through her. But no matter how bad the pain got, no healing tears would come. Her legs refused to hold her, and she fell to her knees, tortured sobs wracking her body. Slowly, very slowly, she grew numb to the pain and she got back on her feet. Once again she stretched out her arms, offering all that was left of her heart, but she no longer hoped. She was unwantable; no one had wanted her heart when it was whole, what could possibly make them want it now that it had been mutilated so badly. So time passed, but as her heart slowly healed and the pain dulled, she began to hope again. Her heart was more loving, more giving, than ever before, but it was also stronger. Now, when it was more hole than flesh, she no longer hid it, but left the imperfect offering extended.