While most children had imaginary friends, she had someone all her own. Someone only she could understand. She created him. She built on him since childhood, sculpting carefully on a dream that she was certain wouldn’t come true. He would visit her dreams, he would appear in her drawings. When she would sing herself to sleep, he would be etched in her lullabies, keeping her safe from harm in her rest. She sought a strange sick beauty and contentment in her solitude, far from reality, finding the unnatural comfort in her imagination to keep her safe in her world of make-believe.
As she grew, he grew with her. He had become so familiar, and became the only ‘home’ she could truly run to in her darkest times. Nothing phased her until her dream became reality. She found herself staring him right in the face; the face she had become so familiar with that it almost unraveled her mind. His eyes were dark and unreadable, hiding a secret pain. His scent that filled her with a maddening intoxication like an unshakable craving for some kind of drug. His voice was music to her ears, as the echo of distant thunder. Everything was just as she had imagined, but all she felt was one-sided and all in her head.
In her heart of hearts she battled her emotions vigorously and without rest, but in the end, she knew she would fall. Everyone warned her not to cave in. She constantly reminded herself to tread carefully. She was successful for a time, but she let her guard down; only for a moment, it seemed, but long enough for him to get into her head and under her skin.
As the walls of her castle of make-believe crashed down around her feet, she was given a violent shove into the reality she had worked so hard to avoid. She could never return to her imaginary world, because her own creation had destroyed all she had constructed, leaving only remnants of her dreams in segments of charred rubble among ashes and blood.