She was black, oh so very black and tainted. She was the embodiment of all that was twisted and wrong in the world. Sometimes that's all she thought she ever was: every little piece of badness in people's hearts congealed into one single existence. It made sense; she didn't remember much of herself before she gained the pleasure of torturing the world at the expense of her own amusement. And why shouldn't she? She was above all of them; a step above the rest, the superior being humans seemed to be so crazy about. It wasn't cruel, it was just giving them what they deserved for even thinking she, or any of her "family", cared about them. Justice, if you will.

But there was one voice that stood out among all the screams. Was it because it wasn't actually pleading with her for some foreign thing called mercy (what was that? Whatever it is, it sounded horrible)? Or maybe because it was the whisper in her head that told her that what she was doing wasn't justice at all. It chastised her for even thinking up some of the things she felt humanity deserved. But even through all the scolding it still promised to save her. Too bad she didn't want to be saved; if that was true though…why did the thought hurt so much?

The boy himself was a light, one that attracted her like a moth to a flame once she made contact with that dazzling brilliance. He was all smiles and good deeds and all around happiness. But soon that light wasn't enough for her, she couldn't stand the sight of it by the time they met again (in person that is. Her little dreams were to be kept secret). She only felt the need to take him, corrupt him until he was a stained black version of his former self with a set of ideals to match hers.

If she was black (and she knew she was), he was pure white- a blank canvas just beckoning her to inscribe her ugly patterns on. But, in the end, she never was able to approach him. The moon wasn't meant to exist during the day after all.

It was only when that sweet little shell of a boy cracked to expose that bitter undertone that she felt her first real connection to him out of her stolen checkups and dreams he never remembered. When his shadow reared its welcomed head, she finally got her chance to speak on equal terms to him. Sure he still hated her, and he was more a martyr than ever, not to mention he was now even more a danger to her and all she stood for. None of those things mattered because they were finally the same and that flame she was so drawn to the first time they met had dimmed to the point of being extinguished. Road wanted to throw a tea party to celebrate.