I don't know what will happen now. I have lived for a very long time, I have suffered for a very long time- yet I have not cried in a very long time. There are moments when even tears forsake you- and they have forsaken me.

I am not sad. I do not weep for what has been taken from me, for what I lost on that night and all those nights afterwards. I do not weep because of him, because of how he tore my heart apart and stepped on it- I do not weep.

But I yell. I yell because of those whom I returned to- because of those among whom I expected to find compassion, love, respect- and returned bare-handed. Nothing was granted me, there was nothing low, despicable, enough for me- for the whore.

Whore.

I don't even dislike the sound of the word anymore. It's grown familiar- it's grown on me, like a name, not an insult, but an objective and honest description of what I am- of how I feel. Nobody ever cared about what I felt- and it was good that way. I know no self-pity- only righteous despair, the despair of a girl who never properly matured, yet is locked up in a body older than she is.

I watch the blood slowly dripping down my wrist- on the floor, staining the dark, dark wood which my bare feet are touching lightly. I watch- intently, calmly, even.

No drama. Never drama.

I never was that kind of girl- no matter which other kinds of girl I ever might have been. I never was one for drama- for tears. I have learnt very early that they are no use anyway. Once- just once, my tears did fall

They were mocked and spit upon.

Now I sit here. My eyes are half closed, revelling in the sight of my thick, dark red blood. Dark red- the colour of Gryffindor, isn't it? Isn't it?

How appropriate.

I do not think about where I am heading for. I only try to recall what I am leaving- and I conclude that it is just this- nothing.

I have wondered many times whether anyone on this world has ever loved me.

Or if anyone in the next ever will.

And I find myself not even caring anymore.

Does darkness finally descend, I wonder as, gently, slowly, I lay myself down. I shall not be mourned over- who shall dig my grave if I shall not? I don't know- I don't care.

I will be forgotten.