Hold of the Winter Mage {ON HOLD}

One

Amare, a girl who lived in her dreams. She was all someone needed; she was a shoulder to cry on. Her city was always dark when she left to explore; they were deprived of her joy and perfection. Her pale skin, dark hair, and different colored eyes; one blue, one brown. And it would be so long before she returned to their forgotten city. Every time she returned, though, she'd be different. Something would be different; her skin would be darker, her eyes would have different colors to them, or her hair would be a different color. But they always knew it was her. Amare kept the same attitude, no matter the weather, no matter the problem.

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Winter pounded away at the doors and windows, ice covering the glass and snow blocking the door. Amare only smiled, looking through a small, clear place on her window. The bedroom was small, but just enough for her and her belongings. The trip back to her home was useless; she hated how when she got there, it started snowing so heavily, only a day went by where you could leave your home. It had been a week, and her home was sinking and being buried in feet of snow. But yet she smiled. If she was buried, well, she'd have enough wood and matches to melt it all.

I could melt it all with my warm tears...

She knew something was wrong; the thoughts she was having lately were unlike her; they went against her. The thoughts fought with each other, and they did for weeks, until they worked together to bring her down to her lowest point. The thought of being annoying, unwanted, talked about behind her back, being despised.

Amare sighed and put her forehead to the cold glass. Tears streamed down her face. The confusion and disbelief over this situation pushed her to her limits; she didn't understand why this would happen. She had no answers. Amare was angry over this; she was fine until the trip, and then it all came tumbling down, crumbling to bits before her very eyes.

And so the sobbing came, each gasp for air making her throat burn worse and worse, making her cry out in pain and cry harder. But upstairs, alone with no possible way for her family to hear her, she was done. She felt like everything she'd done, all of her happiness and usefulness had just been nothing. Amare, a girl with the imagination and joy of a child; she was over with. Everything she'd earned, all that she'd learned and seared into her brain; she'd have to throw it all away. And she knew it was all over this breakdown. Amare understood that this breakdown would be the end of her joy; she knew that this change in her behavior would affect her life. All of the joy and creativity and kindness would have to go. And no matter how much she tried, Amare cried on and on, eventually just laying down on her bed and crying herself to sleep.

And the morning after was no better. She woke up, still in her fine nightgown. But all of the lights were off, no sounds from any room, not even the kitchen or living room. Ice had completely covered her window, and snow had possibly covered it as well. There was no telling.

Amare closed her eyes as the feeling of abandonment washed over her. Tears brimmed her eyes and pain tore apart her head; a headache had formed because of the raging fight to be perfect. All that she'd made herself do, just to break. All of the crushing pain, just to fall down and fail. She'd made herself throw up everything she'd eaten, just to be skinny; each day she'd practice being happy and fine. And yet, on this cold day, she broke and died a little bit more.

Tears streamed down her cold, cold face; her stomach burned from the lack of food; her body ached from the attempted perfection. And that's when the real world set in; Amare wasn't in her small bedroom, she was in a hospital with no one but herself. Beeping machines kept her heart rate that was spiked low. She was startled by all that was happening; she'd never done a thing like this. She'd never been in a hospital except to visit and bring joy. Amare cried, making the pain worse. She cried and she cried, making her throat burn and tear, until all that came out were raspy breaths and chocked sobs.

Nurses came in her bland room, reaching her bedside and calling out to her, but Amare felt no need to answer. There was no point; all it would do is make her be questioned and restrained. The nurses kept up their calls, but calmer, like they knew what Amare wanted. They knew this girl, clearly; they knew she the one everyone wanted. But they didn't know this part of her; they only knew the happy, caring, loving Amare.

Amare eventually stopped crying, and then the nurses left like she'd wished. Amare felt emptier, more tired, and weak, not to mention hungry. She knew that things had gone wrong; the only time she'd cried in her lifetime was when she was a baby. Other than that, it was only hatred and disgust that she'd felt. Never jealousy, and she never cried. And at this point, now that Amare had shifted to this part of life, there was no more perfection; she couldn't be the perfect girl her parents wanted. She had to be Amare, the depressed girl who could never be taught. On this year, in this winter, Amare would become the insane girl with no freedom from her mind.

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Amare? How do you say that?

Two ways:

Uh-mare-ey

Uh-mar (like you're saying marsh)-ey

Also haha tøp is life.

Plus, sorry for grammatical errors.

And that's it lovelies, bye!