She was every gothic's dream. Not of what another person should be like, but what they want to be. Dark, distant, tormented.

Too bad she didn't like it much herself.

She was almost unreal to them. Or the ones who saw her. Mostly she was overlooked, the priceless thing she was. She had an ear for listening, and helped, but was never given anything in return. She never asked for anything. She was amazingly talented; she was smart and an artist.

But for the most part, she stayed by herself. No one knew her name in the city, not really. They would see her, in the twilight hours or at night, sitting by the ocean, or on the ledge of a cliff. But no one knew what she was, truly. No one could see it, not even those who claimed to understand her.

Her mind was a threshold for pain. Before she'd closed off feeling, before she had become so distant, she was an emotional wreck. Life seemed to really have it in for her, although she never knew why. And through all the years, she became stronger for all of it. Until one day, something happened. She never knew exactly what it was that changed, but as a radio switched off, her emotions just died.

Her heart was wrenched, twisted. Hurt. But it was caged, trapped in her mind like a hawk in an enclosure. Her mind caged it. What was her mind like, at that point, anyways? It was cold. Frozen. Her mind was empty, devoid of any flicker of emotion. Just barren.

Eventually, even the heartache went away. All that was left inside her was this distance, and this darkness, and this tormenting past.

The distance was never with people, really, although some noticed it. It was from feeling. She isolated herself from the possibility of being hurt again, because life just seemed to enjoy knocking her around too much.

But she had unconciously aspired to become a gothic's dream. Dark, distant, tormented.

Its just too bad she doesn't like it much, herself.
Its just too bad I don't like it much, either.
Because I am her.