Your intrigued, you can't help but notice how that girl, that one girl in the corner, seems to be so perfect. Pretty hair, bright eyes, and friendly smile. You're drawn to her, like a fly to honey or moths to a flame. Your match has been struck.
Curiosity. You wonder how that girl could possibly be so beautiful. Her auburn hair, burning in the sunlight, curling perfectly around a gentle face. The opposite of her fierce personality, Lush red lips stand stark against alabaster skin. Her thin outline, with all the curves to accentuate it. Your flame is glowing brighter.
Attraction. You can no longer deny it, its not a secret crush. Those glances at that girl, always a second too long. Everyone sees, everyone knows. You're falling to fast, too far, too deep to climb back out. Now you've dropped that match,
Obsession. Wouldn't you just love, for your hair to be the color of hers, warm, Instead of as red as her lips? Change. Change your hair, your clothes, makeup, grades, and habits. Be her, you know you want to me. The perfect girl. The girl who has everything. The flames are her, and they are starting to get out of hand.
Hunger. There is a line; when being like her isn't enough. You are only a copy, and you are painfully aware of that fact. You're beautiful, an exact replica, but you want more. You hear the warnings: Little girls who play with matches always always get burned.
Jealousy. Being a copy of her perfection is merely a façade; you need more than just merely a veneer. You need to be her, that one girl. You know you will no longer be satiated until you are here. The fire you started surrounds you
Consumption. Holding the face of perfecting in your hands, you feely happy. You're beyond doubt that you are that one girl and now there is no competition. The beautiful girl you had once desired, who had fascinated you, who had you obsessed, is now gone—nonexistent. But as you are lost in the bliss of the moment, touching the face of beauty, the body of perfection, you know dimly in the back of your mind, that perhaps you have gone too far this time. You could look, admire, copy and obsess, and while doing that, you were still good. Now as you hold her face, as you have become her, you think that maybe, just maybe, you should have tried to climb out while you still had the chance. Vaguely the morals your parents tried to instill within you leach up. You killed her just so you could complete your sick fantasy, to rid yourself of the life you were living before her. The fire is eating you alive. Why did you strike the match at all?
Confession.. You haven't moved from that spot, over the body of that one girl. When they came to take you away, you went willingly. Only you don't let them take the face, the face of perfection that you so carefully sliced off the dead beauty that had lain before you, not without a fight. I told you not to play with fire.