Gretchen Ross

She.She was exquisite, with her cascade of dark hair framing a pale face, soft eyesthe hue of sorrow.She was tragic, with her soft voice, breathy and catching on tremulous fear.She was endearing, almost birdlike in the way she stood, poised for flight, flinching at words, she slipped with an awkward grace through the brash crowds of youthful arrogance.Her sorrow made her old, her fear made her young, and she was tragic and beautiful and broken and resilient. She was everything that was wrong with the world, the mark of torment and pain still clear across her being, nothing marring those features but existance itself, the perfect victim, the sacrificial lamb, and she was everything right with it, the ethereal creature that the hero rescues, the innocent that the boy with a twist in his soul felt compelled to save.She was beautiful.Even then, in a tasteful mockery of sleep, but no such sleep was marred by the thin trail of blood from the corner of those dead lips, lips that had only just learned to smile.A beauty not meant for this world, almost too fragile to survive.A beauty worth saving.And that is why. Among all the other reasons, confusions, decisions. That is why.