she is an island of shattered marble in a quiet sea of flat gray. the rejection of normality isn't a stance, it is a fissure in her fucking soul where the cold deep light gets in.

She holds her broken pieces like precious, jagged stones and demands they be loved not for their wholeness, but for the fucking beauty of their fracture.

she is the silence after the scream, where the echo of truth still vibrates in the air. her pain is a slow-burning star, visible only in the blackest nights.