[Nullia]

I am perfect in every way.

That's what they tell me, that's what I say.

That I'm smart, that I'm pretty. And I always preach that, below that surface, I am hollow.
It is my defense against those who would care for me.
She sits me down and makes me confess that I am broken. That I need help.
But I know there isn't time.
It is common sense that, in this black or white situation, you sacrifice the one for the many.

So why does everyone die for me?

Even now, even when I tell him that his death will be the final nail in me,
that it will ruin all that I am,
he still tells me that he would die in my name for something entirely my fault.
I don't understand.
I do not,
understand.
Fools. Idiots. Cowards. The lot of them.

You throw away your lives at the first sign of glory,

instead of spending them doing what is hard.

I don't deserve your lives.

So die for something worthwhile.

And yet here I am in the forest again, a soft mania behind my eyes.
Ah, no, she was right. I know she was right. I've always known she was right.
It's because she's always right that I feel the bile rise in my throat.
"You need help."
Everybody needs help.
I was placed here for a reason. There are things only I am willing to do. I don't have time for help.

So just get out of my way.

"You're strong", they tell me.
"You did something no one else could."
No, you
ignorant
fucking
fools.
I did something no one else was willing to.
I am weak. I am a weak, foolish girl. There is absolutely nothing outstanding about me.
The only thing I have is a will to do what's hard.

So why can't I, anymore?

I'm losing my mind.


People put me behind them. They say they have to protect me.
To keep me in this visceral spiral of life,
trapped.
Of course. Of course.
Of course.
Am I nothing more than a doll after all?
To watch people die in my name.

What is the toll now. Hundreds. Thousands. I had intended to keep count.
But there are more dead than there are living.
What am I but weak, if I throw up at the loss of just one.

Power. Strength. They tell me I have it.
It, and a will to change the world.
But this means nothing if I can't change it quickly.

I am not going to fall, with the words ''tried'' in my legacy.

I am going to succeed.


I need more power.


And yet, I fear it. I shy away. Because I feel, this
quiet,
tingling bloodlust,
excited for the day it is justified in its existence.
Validated with reason.
The day I hold someone by the neck like I held her,
and crush it between my fingers,
because I know that I'm allowed.

I have always thought that red was my best color.


If someone were to give me a reason, a single out of this vow I took,
that I would never draw blood—
—I would kill them in an instant.

It terrifies me.

Not that I would,

but that it feels so,

Natural.



Perhaps this was what I was meant to do, after all.

Very well, then. Give me a reason, my dear Lord Warden.

I will show the world,

the true depth of my spite.