Bella is the moment of thrill that courses through veins before vicious teeth go in for the kill. She is fierce regality, pride, upturned noses and rigid posture. She is fury and fire, a fireball who brandishes her wand like a sword. She is raw, unbridled power, indiscriminate and untidy, strange and powerful. She is precision and calculated movement, a master in the art of disguising emotion. She is a vase of dead flowers, shriveled and brown that smell so sweet.

She was born exposed, a raw bag of bones and flesh. As she grew, she made a suit out of everything she saw in the people she watched. As the years went on, piece by piece fell and scattered, peeling away, exposing a live wire. Her lips are stained with truth, it drips down her chin with every word. She has a sharp cupid's bow that fires venom.

Bella cuts open her own chest for him, she shows the monster how her heart beats for him. Her organs are tied in knots, her skin is loose and torn. Bones are headstones which are tortured screams for love, the hungry beast inside her desperate, begging. If you look close, you can see the sprouts and buds which grow from her ribs, desperate for nourishment and yearning for growth. She smothers them.

She is the night. Bella is a navy blanket which smothers and suffocates, lit up with sparks of energy which form elaborate patterns. She is calm, the eye of the storm. She hides under darkness. When she is alone in the dead of night wishing for sleep, she sometimes wishes she was day.