She had been planning this for 3 months. She almost grinned as she snuck out of her dorm, to run up to the Astronomy Tower. It was 4 am, no one was awake. She grew seemingly happier as she drew closer, toting a bag full of supplies. She was wearing a white dress, which spoke of summer, despite the frost that had only just abated. She counted her heartbeats as she took the stairs quickly, almost flying with freedom.
By the time she had reached the top, she was breathing harder. Her ribs moved in and out as she took deeper breaths. She sat down on the cold stone floor, pulling her bag in front of her to lie out what she brought.
A knife, gleaming sharp in the moonlight.
A Muggle plastic water bottle, full of a dark blue solution that gurgled ominously as she set it down.
A bit of parchment, crumpled up, which she smoothed against the ground.
A quill and some ink, shadowed by everything else.
She picked up the knife first, shaking in anticipation. As she brought it down in the crook of her elbow, on top of millions of other scars, she closed her eyes and bit on her lip at the pleasure it brought her. There was no need to bandage it up; she let the blood drip, dark red, onto her white dress, where it stained, an angry mark.
Then, after wiping her knife on the ground, she turned to the parchment. She had known that this would be the hardest part.
I'm sorry, she wrote. I love you. She signed it with a dash and an L. She clutched it tightly in her grip, determined not to write more. Then she picked up the water bottle, and began to drink. The liquid burned her throat and made her head hurt at first. She waited for a minute, and then her head began to get fuzzy.
She grabbed her knife tightly by the blade, digging into her palm, making her bleed, before taking it, and using it to make two large cuts: one down each of her forearms, perpendicular to all the other marks. She dug in the knife deeper than ever, wanting to scream from the pain, and from the freedom it brought her. The cuts were gushing now, and she was beginning to see white at the corners of her vision. Her body slumped against the wall, and one piece of her hair flew into her vision.
"Red hair, red blood," she thought. The feeling was gone from her arms, and the amount of peace she felt was indescribable. It was better than anything she had ever tried before. Better than drugs, better than blood, better than emptiness.
"Red hair, red blood." That was the last thing she thought, as she began to sleep.