Melancholic Miscreation 『❷⓪❶④』

She lived in the night. She was forever alone and left aimlessly searching for a purpose-nothing more than to understand her insignificant existence. She had been known by many names, yet . . . acknowledged only one: Aria.

Aria was unable to see the light of day; to feel the warmth of the sun's vibrant rays caressing her porcelain skin. She yearned for the light. When she would venture into the lamp-lit streets of Paris at night, she could hear a beautiful symphony taking place within each living being she would pass by.

She couldn't remember the rhythm her own beating heart used to create, only that it once held a pulse. Aria envied humans for their life; for the blood that washed through their veins and the blush that burned their cheeks.

She missed such things that she'd taken advantage of within her short life: the sound of her heart thundering in her ears after a run through the swaying fields of uncut hay, the nervous jitters she'd get from a man's embrace, as well as the cold chills from a cool breeze. During her human life, she had never took into consideration such simple things as having an impact so great on her . . . but now-being eternally dead, yet still roaming the earth as a creature who only sees the dark side of the day-she misses every seemingly insignificant occurrence from her mortal life.