I was meant to put this up, and I re-posted White Noise instead. D'oh! *Headdesk* Ooooh, should never update when running solely on tic tacs... Anywho.

This may be absolute crap, but I had some free time, so I rushed this out because I was going to go crazy if I didn't write something.

This time next week, my GCSE's shall be over, and I shall be free! Until then... *Glares at the shackles of revision* Oh Sociology, why must your exam be so late? And why must you have so many topics I need to revise?

It's hard, keeping the perfect mask. I understand why Vanille sometimes cracked – Her true colours seeping through the porcelain - it's why I never went too hard on the girl, why I never really spoke to her... she hit a little too close to home.

It's difficult, but it has to be done. It starts before you are actually awake, in that land somewhere between night and dawn. When you are not asleep, but not awake. Just there. That's when you've got to start, right then. You leave your world of dreams behind you, because they don't mean shit in reality, and focus. Focus on who you are going to be, nothing else. You construct the mask and put it on, making sure it fits perfectly over your own features. It's hard the for a while, and sometimes you have to subconsciously kick yourself into action; after a while though, putting on the mask becomes as big a part of your routine as getting dressed, or having a shower, or grabbing breakfast as you race out the door.

I still do it. Put that mask on. Even though I don't need to anymore, I still do it. It's a habit I can't break. I can't cope, I can't face everyday life unless I have that mask there. I sound like an addict, and I guess I am in a way. Also, I'm too kind. If anyone ever read this, they'd laugh, but after the l'cie incident, after the fall of Cocoon, I can't stand to see anyone upset, I can't stand to shock anyone. They need Lightning, the dependable, sensible, cold-hearted leader. They don't need her. They don't need the daydreamy girl, who wasted her life dreaming about circuses and endless stars, exploration and adventure. She'd be no good in reality.

When people ask me why I don't take up her name, I tell them she's dead. She couldn't take the weight of the armour she put on, broke, and rotted away. But I lie.

She haunts me, taunts me. I can see her in the corner of my eye. When I look in the mirror every day, and prepare myself for another twenty-four hours in hell, my porcelain transforms into glass, and I see her. I look at her, and she looks at me. A silent argument. And after I tell her that no, she can't come out today, she shrugs and walks away. I stare down into the sink, shiver and shake; hope that today's not the day when the paint wears thin showing the hairline cracks underneath, or when I drop and shatter. Oh God, don't be the day I shatter. I take care to double check my mask, check that there aren't any gaps, that it's safely secured, and add a fresh layer of paint where it seems just that little bit too thin.

I don't think about her for the rest of the day, I've got more important things to think about. It's not until I slip under the covers, until I go to bed, that she slips through my window and returns. That's when she steps through the curtain, that's when I dream of endless stars, of laughter and music; handstands and cartwheels; rainbows and sunrises; trapezes and trampolines; faeries and opal coloured pools which, if you jump into them in just the right way, will take you to a new exciting world, where the grass smells of cherries and nobody dies...

It's all a gigantic lie. Because Claire is still alive, in the depths of my dreams and the shallow end of hers.

Blergh. That last line was damn hard to write. And re-reading this, it just occured how rambling and random it is. Oh well. Lemme know what you thought. Seriously, I feel dead rusty.

I shall see you on the other side amigos! *Dives headfirst into a textbook* *Smacks head on the spine* Owwwwwww...