I am beautiful. No, no, more than that. I am the most beautiful creature since the creation of this world - and before it. Back then though, there was no one to rival me. Except one. But I forget about her; she doesn't matter. She was not there - she was not allowed. There was just me and him. And I was loved! I was loved so dearly!
But I could not cherish him the same way he did me. Instead, I began to adore the very thing he loved: myself. Or more importantly, my stolen beauty. He liked that best of all. It became my sole star in that black sky; that dark, never-ending abyss which I could fill with nothing but fervent self-love.
I dislike going back to that time though, because if one hacked through the tenacious denial that encased my heart, they would feel my utter rejection. The bitter knowledge of his false love. My vanity is my shell. And in order to maintain this vanity, one must have a supply of constant affection to feed it. My supply, my source of life, was poisoned - a sick umbilical cord that was unwilling to function for me. To let me live.
I began to hate myself, with a hate deeper and hotter than hell. I was so alone, and was left that way to suffer the terrible weight of my own disgusting contempt.
"Love rots into the purest odium, fouler than hate born from hate itself.
Because I know of your flaws, oh loathed one, I know of your flaws!
I know all your weaknesses, imperfections; beautiful and cruel deceptions.
While once I looked upon them with pity, I now only see scorn.
And it repulses me no end, my rotten, filthy child."
- That's what became of His love. Has any being ever been as hated as I?