Author's Note: This story and storyline was thought up before I even began to start making an account. I loved the character's name so much; I decided to keep it as part of my own (even if it is not my actual name). Finally, I must add, feeling it is mandatory, that the only character that I in fact hold title to, would have to be Krystelle. She is mine, and no reference of her was made in any situation. The rest, they are not my characters; they do not belong to me. This story is told entirely from Krystelle's point of view.

Gone Too Soon

I have spent my life wishing not to wake. That I could sleep and dream away the things I have done, the things I have brought upon this mortal world.

I am no mortal, not the way the others see me from their spaces in between the clouds. To them, the "pure", I am a monster. I am impure. A fallen one. Someone who can never truly be part of their society. To them, I am garbage. I am nothing.

My name is the only thing they gave me. The only thing anyone gave me besides hideous looks when I passed. It is not my fault that I am this way. It is not my fault. It is theirs.

They made me the way I am.

The people who called me 'daughter'. The people who hated me. I have only ever tried to show them kindness, but they do not want to hear it.

So I left the place I was not welcome. Any sane person would stay.

Maybe I am not sane. Maybe I am a monster. A freak.

An angel.

That is what I am by definition.

An angel who can no longer go back to the place the mortals called heaven.

I called it torture.

Because I am not perfect, and they did not accept me the way I was. Because I am dark inside. Because I have killed.

But it was not my fault.

Now the only one who cares is a part of my own mind that I can only find through dreams.

He cannot help me when I am awake.

He is a shadow, pure and to the point.

Pure and simple.

Purely darkness.

He protects me. He holds me when I am scared. But he is not real.

It feels as if he is out there somewhere, out there searching for me. Out there begging to be heard. Out there, completely unaware that I exist. To him, I am the shadow.

To him, I am the dream.

To him, I am not real.

Emerald. The first color I have seen upon the shadow. His eyes.

They are no color I have ever seen.

They are not human.

His eyes are the same every time, I know it is no coincidence.

The shades of a light sea foam, like a sheet of glass that clouds when one looks into it.

A strange sight that one can not tear their own eyes away from. I still do understand why this is all I can see.

I do not understand why the vision is so important.

Maybe it is real; maybe it is only what I imagine it to be, the shadow.

Maybe I have already seen the real from, but I do not look close enough at anyone but my own reflection.

Not like anyone even wants me around.

I have gone through hundreds of cities, each one less and less welcoming to someone like me. Someone who is dark inside.

Someone who has killed the innocent.

Someone who understands why.

Shadows are not the same as darkness. They represent a life in which you have not yet come into contact with. Someone who you are supposed to meet. Someone.

Someone is out there and they can hear me. Or they could ignore me.

I lived. I left. I woke up every day into a world of nothing. But I know there is something.

Something that I need to keep living for.

Because I will find out why.

I am thrown into cool, dark emptiness. I am awake again. Staring at an ash gray tiled ceiling. I do not have a home. I should not be here. I should be gone. My first impulse is to get up and run, but my body does not respond to such thoughts. I lay there, for hours it seems, but I know it is only moments. I do not know where I am. I do not want to remember why I am here.

I turn my head and whatever is beneath me crinkles as I move. With a start, I realize it is a hospital bed. I am in a hospital. I think.

There is a table next to me, and there are twelve half chewed and dried up pills. I know what they are, and what they are for.

I close my eyes and try to remember what I am doing here, and if I was injured.

And I am thrown right back into nothingness when I look for my memories. I nearly choke as I remember it all. Death. I remember death. And then life again. I remember swimming behind the glass of a useless body, I remember choking on air, and I remember staring at the bottom of a dock. I remember them. I remember blurriness, I remember their voices. I remember the ones who saved me.

My eyes shoot open again.

Move, I command myself. Get up, I scream in my mind. Go. I do not move. Not an inch. I let out a breath and managed to push myself up, struggling all the way.

I am not alone in this room.

There is another girl.

And I already know who she is.

She looks at me, violet eyes glaring with concern. She is dressed in indigo with a hood over her head. Her skin is pale grey, and from this I know she is a demon.

I know what she thinks of me already.