It's not like she didn't want to be happy. It just struck her. The looming feeling of realization she'd tried to ignore, tried to convince herself it wasn't her fault.
They didn't love her. They loved Viola.
They pretended not to mind or worry, tried to ignore how much that innocent, naive little girl had changed. How the look in her eyes wasn't remotely Viola's. How in the beginning she would rarely answer when called by the strange name that wasn't her own. Of course, they all obliviously blamed that 'traumatic incident'.
They acted out of their love. For Viola.
She'd put up a semi-transparent face of happiness. Got used to and maybe even started to love the people who surrounded her. They'd make her laugh and then the truth'd hit her hard every single damn time and her temporary joy would just crumble.
No one loved Ellen. No one loved the sickly girl, rotting from the inside out...
It was a simple idea. A vague thought. She went with it, thinking that, if nothing else, there was a slight-to-non-existent chance that she would be able to see her again. The girl she was always envious of. The girl whose trust she ruthlessly betrayed.
The girl who was at the same time her only friend.
She didn't hesitate to move her finger to the trigger of "father's" gun, warm blood oozing from her shattered head, matting the blonde hair of the body that was once both Ellen and her best friend.
She reminisced all the while on how she liked it when "daddy" would softly ruffle her hair when he got home in the evening (just like a certain someone would do to tease her and her strictly groomed purple hair), how she enjoyed it when her "friends" would want to chat and play with her for hours and hours (just like a certain someone did, even when she was ugly and bed-ridden).
It's not like she wasn't happy, for a while.
She was "happy" until her mirage faded and the subconscious reflections tore her apart until all that was left were the gutted remains of a lonely, needy child.
As wet tears mixed with flowing crimson, was it regret upon last breaths?
She was a selfish witch; a poor, caged bird. She already knew she'd never be happy with what she had. She already knew she'd never be happy.
She never was.
She could, though. Aside the envy, deep down she admired her. The missing soul once called Viola could, unlike her, be happy. Even 'loved' and in another's body, Ellen couldn't fill that hole in her own heart covered in sores. She couldn't have a heart like hers, so pure. Ellen couldn't even take that feeling of happiness away from her. Ellen just couldn't be Viola, no matter how hard she'd try.
Who knows? Maybe they'll see each other after death.
Maybe she'll forgive her.
Maybe they'll live happily ever after.
Maybe not, but Ellen was used to denying what she knew to be true.