"You're getting thinner," people have told you, and you'd waved them all away, smiled and responded, "I'm on a diet."
When the camera flashes fade and you're all alone standing in front of the mirror, you let your smile slip because you know that they're right--you're getting thinner and paler and more and more tired each day.
Light doesn't notice. That hurts you much more than the fact that you've had to give up the limelight because you're becoming too weak, much more than the realization of So this is what dying feels like and the knowledge that everything's going to end.
You see your reflection tremble, her lower lip quivering, but she does not cry. You do not cry. You're brave; death doesn't scare you because you've always known that it would come, just as you've known it had already taken your parents. And you don't regret anything because it was all for Light and Light means so much more than your life.
This is what you're thinking right now: If Light notices, he might put you away, decide that you're useless. He might stop loving you. And that would hurt you the most.
Light loves Misa. This is true. But the Misa he knows is the energetic girl with the slender figure that curved at the right places, not this skeleton of what was once beautiful. The Misa he knows is alive.
When Light shows up for your lunch date, you smile although you know that your eyes are as hollow as death, wrap your bony arms around his neck and bury yourself in his warmth. There are no cameras rolling, but you are still an actress. You are your only audience, and that is a big enough number for you to keep reading the lines from your invisible script.
It's getting colder and colder, but you tell yourself, I am an actress and I love Light. and see your role through the end of the story.
Fade to black.
It wasn't a disease that killed you. It wasn't anorexia as the tabloids would say, nor was it depression. It wasn't your bargains with the death gods. It was love.
And you couldn't have imagined a better death.