Disclaimer: Middle Earth and all of its places, names, and plots belong to the Tolkien Estate. The rest of the characters belong to me.

Author's note: This is not your average fanfiction or Mary-Sue. Elena's frustrations are based off of what I, and a lot of other teens face, but it is not a happy little Mary-Sue where a teen goes to Middle Earth and Legolas/Aragorn/whoever-floats-your-boat falls in love with her. This is a story about how a teen gives up everything for a dream of what may be, but finds that Paradise isn't as perfect as she thought. The story is dark and depressing, but let it serve as a warning for anyone who loves these worlds so much as to write fanfiction about it: don't let Elena's story happen to you.

Prologue

Sobs and shudders shook Elena's frail body. Her hands trembled in front of her, as if hating what they were about to do. Slowly, she picked up the sharp blade that lay on the sink. Its smooth, silver exterior entirely hid its violent nature.

Clang.

The blade fell to the linoleum. Elena jumped backwards, banging into the bathroom wall behind her. For a long time, the only movement in that dirty bathroom were the tears rushing down her face and the occasional shuddering that overtook her.

At last she calmed enough to pick up the gleaming blade, now lying, desolate, on the ground.

'Ow!' She whispered. Elena held up her finger to her face and examined it under the dull light. A trickle of blood flowed down her hand; she had cut herself while retrieving the blade. Elena laughed, 'A little extra blood won't hurt me.'

As if just realizing the severity of what she was about to do, she froze. Suddenly, she felt dizzy. The floor spun beneath her and her head pounded. She grabbed the sink for support and took a long, cleansing breath. When she looked up at her reflection, she shuddered. This is what I've become? Her skin was sallow and stretched tightly across her bones; dark rings lined her eyes; and her hair was thin and messy. She had the appearance of one who was dying. A moment of doubt filled her, why am I doing this? But the moment quickly passed. For the third time in five minutes, she picked up the blade. 'For paradise.' She said. 'For Valinor. For Middle-Earth. For the world that I belong to.'

Squeezing her eyes shut, she raised the blade above her wrist. After a brief hesitation, she slashed the blade deeply across her forearm.

The pain was more intense than anything that she had ever experienced. Though the blade only sliced her wrist, it felt as if her entire body was being cut open. Then, as suddenly as it started, the pain disappeared; replaced by an adrenaline rush. Rejuvenated by the ecstasy soaring through her, she sliced her other arm. The same excruciating pain followed by the same thrill.

The deed done, Elena sat on the floor, fascinated by the rivers of red shooting out of her arms. She thought of her life, her memories, friends, and family…until her mind was blank and she no longer thought: she merely existed. And then the room began to slide out of focus.

Molly took the stairs by twos, her pigtails bouncing cheerfully behind her. 'Ellie! Ellie! Guess what? We read The Hobbit in school today!' Molly reached the second story landing and poked her head into her big sister's room. The stereo was still playing, the TV was paused on a close-up of Aragorn's face, and yet, Elena was nowhere to be found.

'Ellie?' Molly asked tentatively. She faced her sister's closed bathroom door. 'Ellie?' There was no answer. Pressing her ear to the door, Molly strained to hear Elena, but all was silent. Even the CD in the stereo had stopped. Molly carefully tried the handle of the door; it opened. Slowly, she pushed the door completely open.

Molly screamed and ran downstairs.

The technician in the ambulance bent over Elena. He turned to another and said, 'She's still conscious.'

Elena gazed up through half-closed eyes. A hazy image loomed over her face.

'Can you hear me, miss?' The technician asked.

Elena mumbled something incoherent. But at her funeral a week later, the technician recalled hearing her say, 'Four pairs of dice,' though he hadn't the faintest idea what it meant.