Patterns on the wall.
Sketched in shadow.
She watches the dark figures dance before her eyes, her hand aching to touch them. They are far more beautiful than people.
People are cruel.
They destroy each other.
They destroy her.
She grows so tired of being alone. She watches her classmates as they gossip, giggling loudly. As they fall in love, entering a world of entwined fingers, joined lips, and tight embraces. Something she has never encountered.
Something she never will.
So she watches the shadows. Her brown eyes focus on the hazy shapes, unblinking. She gazes in utter fascination as they twist and contort.
Until she sees herself.
The shadows allow her to become anything. In their world she is a princess.
She is beautiful.
No longer gangly and awkward.
Her movements are smooth, fluid, graceful.
Sometimes they whisper to her.
They promise that she has a place among them.
Their dark princess.
And she smiles. No longer the warm, open smile of her child hood. But a smile that tells of the secrets she holds within.
She is waiting, waiting for the day that she can join them. And no one notices as she slips further and further away.
No one sees the numerous scars.
Dark against her pale skin.
Her own shadows.
It happens on a cold December night.
Her footsteps are quiet, almost silent.
A lesson from the shadows.
She is not scared.
She scolds herself for not putting on shoes.
The snow is stinging the bottom of her feet as she steps up onto the ledge.
She looks out over the white ground.
It is pretty, she admits, but not half as beautiful as darkness.
And with that thought, she flies.