An age or a day

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  She used to be someone whose body was bare of marks. A spirit who accepted and loved herself for the way she was, not for who she wasn't. Never had she even thought of harming her own soul or breaking herself into pieces. However, right now, she lay on the roof top her mind a web of tangled thoughts; her skin baring wounds of battles with monsters; her eyes red and swollen; her cheeks moist with tears; the air around her filled with smoke making it harder to breathe; her throat suffocating from the endless sobs; her body aching and weakening; her head spinning; her light dimming; her emotions diminishing to nothing but that of the dead. 
   A once confident leader. now an insignificant indifference. The girl whose voice cheered through halls and rooms, now barely heard talking at all. She who lived for thrill and excitement, now not very keen on living itself. The once mighty had become a fading memory of a myth.

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