Hello friends! :D Welcome to yet another midnight oneshot. Enjoy!

And If Our World Should Fall Astray:

You're perfect now. So it's right that you can't be happy. After all, it wouldn't be fair for you to have everything, and even if you did have it all you wouldn't deserve it.

You don't deserve anything.

Because you, you, you, sitting in your garden, on your stone bench, with your needle-thin legs swinging back, forth, back, forth, you realize that this is just a result.

It's not a new development. You've always been descending into a blur.

It begins with every time you answer no to is something wrong. It begins every, single, bloody time you refuse to eat, because you don't deserve to.

Because now when you think about what everyone else believes in, you know you don't believe in anything.

You're just…falling.

You used to wonder what would happen if your world fell apart, if it strayed from its perfect path. And look, now it has, and no one knows.

Things can never be going right when you trade in your moccasins for high heels.

And you see your battered moccasins under the bench where you last forgot them, and they are an invitation to remember. Remember a time before the perfection.

Before your perfect, porcelain ninety-pound body shook like pain. Back then you didn't really think about what comes after. What comes after perfection?

Well, someone has to throw your glass self to the ground.

Or maybe you just threw it yourself.

But now you're in the what comes after, and as you sit in your garden, your world has gone astray.

So now you know what comes after perfection and you don't like what you see. You used to dream of being loved – that dream's long gone.

After all, perfection is a selfish master.

It's a vindictive master too, and someday it'll let you go and then everyone will see how you're broken. Little nieces and nephews will ask James and Al why Aunt Lily is alone and broken – who broke her, Daddy? Can you fix her, Daddy? – and neither will know what to say.

Perfection won't let go once it has you in its chains.

It starts to rain. And you stand, your body slowly turning. Your heart slowly throbbing. You used to dream of being held and kissed in the rain. No, not anymore, now you have to hold your head high all on your own in the garden. No rain hits your moccasins because they are safe under your old stone bench that's being eaten away by moss – like how you ate away yourself.

You're falling apart, all alone in your little garden.

Can you fix her?

No.

You don't need anyone. You swear you don't need anyone. Your hair sticks to your face with the rain and it's messy – not quite perfect anymore. It's almost a relief.

Like trying to run away when you're chained to a wall.

You feel ecstasy for a second because for a moment you can almost believe that you will get away.

But then you're only jerked back with more force. Perfection, the brutal master.

You sit down upon the cobblestones like you're a child again – before you submitted to your master. You lay down, desperate to hear the footsteps of someone you used to be pounding upon the stones.

But you can't hear it. You can't even hear her anymore. Perfection beat her into submission – or else, maybe it killed her – who you used to be.

And maybe when it killed her it tipped your world, and let your world fall astray.

No one would keep you warm if you danced in the downpour of your miserable perfection, alone in the garden of wilting flowers.

You've been gone from that kind of girl for far too long that if you try to remember her, you can barely stay within the realm of reality. Your perfect world and your perfect body revolve around the kind of words that only appear in sleeptalk. You're a powder keg in a prison cell – a bomb in a birdcage – but you're masquerading yourself with perfection.

Terror has fallen upon you – perfection is unreliable as soon as you achieve it. Sleep no longer comes. Perfection takes you down into what you think is a beautiful valley, only to discover that shadows pour down from the hillsides until you're consumed, buried, drowning in them.

You've lost who you are and where you came from in the quest for perfection, to the point where you don't even deserve anything that could make you better.

You just keep on dying inside, because no one can know that you're not perfect. Because perfect is in the eye of the beholder, and as long as they think you're perfect, you are perfect.

Until they find out, you will be perfect.

Can you fix her?

No.

No one can fix a girl who lives in a world that's gone astray.

Being perfect is just not enough. You've had it long enough to know that it's not enough. Being perfect will never be enough.

It doesn't satisfy.

Perfection can't satisfy a soul that's burning away.

And no kind of help can save a world that's fallen astray.

So what did you think of that one? I had a blast writing it. It just poured out of me. I know, I know, I should really stop writing crazy!LilyLuna, but it's so much fun, and I love writing her. I do have an idea for a Lucy fic though, so that'll be up soon. And I'm also almost done with a Theodore/Luna oneshot, so that's on the way too. Also, I don't get many reviews...soooooo...please read and review - reviews are like my favorite thing ever...

Love always,

Lily