Save All Her Ashes For Me

Turn her over

A candle is lit, I see through her

Blow it out and save all her ashes for me

She is perfect. Hauntingly beautiful. All quiet smiles and sparkling eyes and shining hair. You are drawn to her. You long to break her. To twist her pure spirit and make it into something ugly and cruel and somewhat like your own. Misery loves company, after all. You are not miserable, but you crave a partner in the dark path you walk. And this creature of light is practically begging to be jaded.

You never expected that she knew well the path you traveled. That her feet had worn their own prints into the cold stone. That she had long born the mark of darkness upon her soul. This was not at all what you had expected. This was better.

Curse me, sold her

The poison that runs its course through her

Pale white skin with strawberry gashes all over

She doesn’t trust you, but the heart is a cunning thing, and soon you have won her over. All it takes are a few well timed kisses and whispered promises. Her kind are fairly uncomplicated. She falls like a rotten apple from a tree. You let her have her fantasy, for a short while, before you strike the first blow.

You feed the trace of darkness inside her. You offer it her pain, her humiliation, the tears streaming out of her lovely brown eyes. And it grows, and becomes more ominous, spreading through her like poison.

Watch me fault here

You’re loving like a disaster

She said kill me faster

With strawberry gashes all over, all over

You watch as the tears dry, leaving salty patches on her cheeks. Her sobs become soft whimpers. Before long, no noise passes her crimson lips. She takes your harsh words without protest, her head bowed and her tangled red hair falling over her face. You snicker and smirk at her attempts to be strong. You leave her on her knees on the cold stone floor.

But you do not know where she goes once you disappear. You are oblivious to the fact that not all her wounds are your doing. She keeps the blade well hidden, camouflaged as a quill in her bag. She makes her way to another empty room, pressing the steel into her flesh until blood spills forth, tracing crimson spider webs over white skin.

Called her over

And asked her if she was improving

She said ‘feels fine’, it’s wonderful wonderful here

She is quieter, you notice. Retreating into herself. Her smiles are less frequent and always hold a sort of distant sadness. Her eyes are less sparkling than hard and glassy. For some reason, this bothers you. She no longer looks at you. She kneels in front of you, her long fingers tracing over her wrists, over the wound the become more pronounced each day. Red lace weaving through the bruised prints of your harsh fingers. When you hold her or kiss her, she is still and cold, as if she doesn’t feel your touch at all. This angers and frustrates you. But when you strike her, she barely even flinches.

You are not the only one to notice. The bloody hero and his sidekicks catch on. They crowd around her, concerned expressions painted on their faces. It makes you sick. They bombard her with questions. In response, she nods and gives them one of her distant smiles, saying ‘I’m fine.’ And they believe her.

Hex me, told her

I dreamt of a devil that knew her

Pale white skin with strawberry gashes all over, all over

You try and try to get a response from her. The sad smiles are making you sick, the cold serenity in her eyes almost chilling. You would give anything for her to cry out, to sob. To laugh. To scream until your eardrums burst, until her eyes are bloody and her throat is raw. The silence is driving you mad. You slap her and push her and shake her. Kiss her and touch her and bite her. And still there is nothing. Just empty silence and the whisper of the wind and red spreading everywhere.

Every night, she leaves you. She goes to her hiding place. She draws out the knife. Her salvation. As the cuts grow deeper, blood dripping down her delicate wrists, she laughs softly to herself. Inhuman, hollow laughter, so much like your own. She slices the blade over the skin just below her elbow, reveling in the sharp sting that flashes through her. Blood is washing over her like rain. She thinks of you, and tears gather in her eyes. She is still laughing when she begins to cry.

Watch me fault her

You’re living like a disaster

She said kill me faster

 With strawberry gashes all over, all over

It continues this way for months. The silence and the shouting and the fists and lips and hands. You feel as though you are going crazy. This was not part of the plan. You were supposed to break her, make her like you. But you are finding that she may be breaking you. Your frustration mounts, your attempts at penetrating the wall around her become more extreme. Until one night, you hit bottom.

She is tracing her wounds with her fingers when you feel the cord inside you snap. You jerk her upright by her forearms, backing her against the wall. She closes her eyes as her head strikes the stone. You hiss at her to look at you, and when she does, you are shocked and satisfied to see fear reflected in the dark pools. You crush your mouth against hers, biting her lips harshly and tasting blood. She is trying to push you away. You press yourself harder against her, snaking your hand under her skirt and steadying yourself with the other. She whimpers into your mouth and you fight the urge to laugh triumphantly. Soon you have your trousers off, and her skirt is pushed up to her wait, her blouse a little torn. Her fear is intoxicating, washing over you as you drive into her.

I lay quiet

Waiting for her voice to say

"Some things you lose, and some things you just give away"

You leave her lying on the floor, sobbing softly and clutching her robes tightly around her. There is a bitter taste in your mouth, something that has nothing to do with blood or tears. Her scent is heavy on your clothes, mixing with the sweat and making your stomach turn. You walk quickly back to your common room, immediately going to your private chambers. Your head is throbbing with the reality of what you have just done. You can feel the high of her fear fading, leaving you with a sick grip on what is left of your heart.

Scold me failed her
If only I'd held on tighter to her
Pale white skin that twisted and withered away from me, away from me

She makes her way to the empty room that has become her haven. Her body aches. She is vaguely aware of the blood staining her clothing, dried in dark brown patches. This is nothing like the beautiful liquid that flows down her arms night after night. This is dirty and unwelcome. She is disgusted with herself, and with you. There is a pain between her legs that makes it hard to walk. Her eyes are stinging from crying. She sinks down onto the floor, her eyes blank as she reaches for her blade. As she makes the first cut, her mind wanders. There had been a hungry look to your eyes, a predatory gleam as you watched her struggle. It makes her stomach turn to think about it. Breathing heavily, she digs the knife deeper into her skin, barely even registering the jolt of pain or the warm flow of blood.

Watch me lose her
It's almost like losing myself
Give her my soul
And let them take somebody else, get away from me

Why does she let you do this to her? Why did she not leave you before? She thinks back to all the nights that she sat in that room as you shouted and hit her. How long was it before she stopped feeling it? Until your voice sounded distant and muffled? She would touch her gashes and wait for you to finish with her, so that she could come here. But she secretly wished that you would take her in his arms and hold her, as you had done so often in the first weeks. Because there is a feeling inside of her that she can not purge herself of. It makes her sick, swimming in her veins like slow acting poison. Sobbing, she picks up the knife and carves the truth into her skin.

Watch me fault her
You're living like a disaster
She said kill me faster

You wake up in the middle of the night, drenched in cold sweat. That grip in your chest is now like a vise. Not quite sure where you are heading, you pull on a shirt and pad down the stairs and out into the dungeons. Your feet lead you to a dark and abandoned corridor and stop outside of an unfamiliar classroom. After a moment’s hesitation, you push the door open and step inside. The walls are covered in pictures of Muggle objects and you laugh bitterly to yourself. You slowly circle the room, but stop dead when you see a flash of vivid red from around a corner. Your stomach twists painfully. As you get closer, bile rises in your throat.

She is sprawled on the floor, covered in blood. Her arms and legs and exposed stomach are brutally slashed. There seems to be some sort of design carved into the flesh of her abdomen. Feeling sick, you step forward and kneel beside her. Her eyes are wide and unfocused, still wet with tears. Your gaze travels over her sliced up arms, the pale skin darkened by bruises that take the shape of your hands. They trail down to her ripped shirt and then to her stomach. What you see there causes you to retch.

Jagged letters, caked in blood.

I.

L. O. V. E.

H. I .M.

With strawberry gashes all over, all over me