Dahlia

Ẅ̤Ä̤L̤̈K̤̈Ï̤N̤̈G̤̈ "Waste of flesh" The words she painted upon her ribs. Her form curled as she wailed aside to herself and He. Beautiful in a way only something dying could be. Her fingers, black with standing scabs, ripped at her arm, the skin like paper beneath her onslaught. "We're both f*cking suits!" Her face found itself within the cold stiffness of his chest. A shell haboring a silent heart. Her voice cracked as she cried into the palness of his flesh. "You told me I was broken. But you never said you were too." ~~~~~~~~~ Dahlia has always been a bit more defying than others. Her seemingly perfect life comprised of wealth and a well planned future came cascading down, brough on by her defying to those that govern her. Or at least tried. Her family of class elites disowned her, leaving her to her own devices. This is of course what dlshe was striving for. Now sapped of her riches, no claim to fame, she lives a seemingly normal life, even a bit improvish as she borders the poverty line. A face in the crowd, unnoticed, just as she had always wanted.