• I suppose it began to ache too much. The thunderous pain had begun to swell to such greater lengths she has fallen to the ground. I watch as Lolli curls into a ball on the floor, screaming, her fingers digging into what flesh she could reach on her back. She is hunched over like a beautiful doll, so fragile, and tossed aside by a world so cruel.

    Said doll was wailing now, so inhumane, so twisted . . . so wonderfully beautiful. I could easily walk over to her, and help ease the pain, wrap her in a bed of silk strands like how most fae obtained their wings. Full blooded fae. Not pathetic half – fae, who had no control of their magic like this doll. But, my silent loathing of half – creatures won me over. So instead I watch the b*****d of a creature, a twisted morbid sensation of joy from watching her writher about.

    She sounds like a cat. Wailing, crying, and screaming. She had clawed through the fabric of her shirt, and was tearing at her flesh, her nails bloodied; attacking what of her back she could reach. It was always interesting to see what half – blooded fae had to go through. They didn’t live with the possibility of making a cocoon and simply sleep through the painful process of metamorphosis. Some of “their” kind didn’t make it because lack of cocoon. The pain would sometimes over whelm them so much, that they would die. . . no one could ever guess, whether it be suicide, or not, all the same, it was gruesome sight to behold, I have heard.

    Which, I have never experienced seeing one, a half – blood morphosis, but now with my pet I could watch what has been called, a fascinating show. Lolli is bent over now, her voice has cracked, and is failing her, but it seems as though the tears would not stop coming. Staring at her broken doll form I grinned, what I would believe a sadistic grin. A canvas so gorgeously painted before me; and the colors were beginning to bloom.

    Veins had started spreading on her back, making a pretty mixture of red and blues; even more colors started to blotch her skin, and where ever it blotched, the skin had stretched terribly into little mounds.

    A terrible ripping noise sounds.

    All in that moment, Lolli was erect her neck stretched upward to the heavens, and at the same time as wet wings were ripping through skin, did a scream, of what did sound like, a soul being ripped into two. The girl collapsed on the floor, in a mixture of blood, liquid, and membrane.

    At last, I finally went to move her body. Bending over to her form, I brush bloodied blonde locks, to get a better look at what a broken doll’s face truly looks like.

    It was simply lovely.

    What I suppose is important, she was alive, her breathing sporadic, and even from where I stood, could I tell her heartbeats were uneven . . . but she would survive. I picked up Lolli in my arms, cradling the exquisite canvas close to me. I am careful though, as to where I hold her. Her new wings were listless, and as fragile, as the girl I cradle. I cared not of what the whole scene looked like: the mess on the ground, the scratches the doll had inflicted on herself and the fact my fiancé was half – naked.

    Let the court, think what they would think. It would be wonderful gossip for my little pet to wake herself to.