You start out naïve, wide-eyed, with great ambitions of change. You build castles in the air on pillars of reform and a cornerstone of love. Never knowing it all to be a lie. Because, one day, that castle comes crashing down, and you never saw it coming.

That is the first step on the staircase to the depths. It always is.

Your heart hardens, and your world view becomes a little more jaded. The fog lifts and you see just how corrupt the world is; just how power-hungry.

And the staircase becomes more slippery.

Then your moment occurs. A word, a glance, a touch. And everything changes. Everything.

You begin to view the world through a filter. A filter of this dream. A filter of this obsession. A filter of this all-consuming passion you cannot resist, however much you may try.

The world becomes black and white, a monochrome madness you cannot escape. The world becomes sharp but blurred, all at the same time, like a glass cage you cannot shatter. The world becomes distant, as if viewed through a bird's eye, but none of the freedom of soaring through the air exists.

You work feverishly, through the day, through the night, never allowing your mind to stray. Even through sleep; even through pain.

And the goal seems, at first, attainable. A little hard work, a few faked smiles, a few whispered conversations in the darkness. It seems as though, if you were to stretch your hand just a little bit more, it will be there, solid.

Just out of reach.

Except, it stays that way. You put in so much blood, so much sweat, so many tears. And yet, it seems you must still strain just a little bit more. So you do strain; you do pour in more of yourself, give more of yourself.

And, before you know it, you have spent everything. Somewhere along the way, you put in too much, faked a hundred more smiles than you ever thought you might need to, been in the shadows enough to taint you charcoal black. Killed enough to stain your hands red. Elicited enough screams that you now crave their sound.

Somewhere along your way, you lost that innocence, that child-like naiveté that brought you here in the first place. If souls were color, yours would be a deep crimson. You aren't even sure if whatever is within you even warrants being called a soul anymore; a reflection of the past in a broken mirror. You don't recognize yourself now.

It has become you. That hunger has become you.

But you know you are closer than you have ever been. And you need to get there, even if the journey is hard, and uphill, and rips you apart. That is a sacrifice you are willing to make.

You meet others on the way, all after the same thing, all in various states of degeneration. You learn something from every one of them, even if it is only not to go down a certain path. You learn more from some than from others; you form alliances, but that is all they will be. That is all they will be in this cruel game of chess, where everyone is an enemy unless proven otherwise. Where everyone has a common goal and will not hesitate to swallow you whole. A difficult lesson you learn the hard way.

Which is why you are so skeptical of that one charismatic boy who offers you the world on a silver platter. Who's words paint a beautiful picture of the future. Who seems to be sane, whole; too sane, whole. How can he be, when everyday deepens the gash in your own heart? How can he be, when every step widens the gaping abyss within? How, when your very being is crumbling to dust, is he so perfect, a marble statue?

When you voice your thoughts, he just laughs, the sound so addictive, and tells you to wait. And then he lets you see the dark side of him, and everything becomes crystal clear: he is more shattered than you ever thought possible. His perfection a façade, like your own, his charming words a farce, like your own, his entire being held together by cobwebs and dust of old dreams and silent screams, just like your own.

And somehow, that is more perfect than the mask he wore. It is more in sync with you, aims aligned, strides matched. It is more real, more a rock in the turbulence of your quest. And so, slowly, you let him in.

Or, at least, you mean to. But once you begin, it becomes a freefall, faster than the wind, passionate as sin, a white hot flame. It is addictive, a drug. It takes you places you never even dreamed of, heights of ecstasy you thought unattainable.

It is the push you need. It is that forever in disguise that stood between you and your throne. And all too soon, that seat is yours.

And maybe you lost your innocence and your sweetness. But you reached the snow-capped peak, and you are all the better for it.

A/N: So, what do you think? This one is rather different than the others, but it just seemed right to write it in this style. As always, prompts welcome, and thank you to all my followers. Your love is my motivation.
Affly,
M
P.S.- I stole a couple Taylor Swift lyrics, just in case they looked familiar. I don't own them.