Her wrists had scars from old cuts, and were bleeding from the new ones. The blood trickled down her arm into the once pure white bath tub, now stained red, filled with a pool of her own blood. Her tears painfully stung her eyes. Eyes that were once a vibrant blue and filled with pure innocent joy were now a dull shade of grey, any sign of happiness or innocence gone. Isabelle was her name. A beautiful name for a beautiful girl. She was graceful and passionate. Always fighting for what she believed was right. Even if it was wrong. Yet, her name never suited her after her mother passed away. If anything, that name was more of a burden. She wasn't just Isabelle. She was Isabelle the Second. Her mother, Isabelle the First, her namesake, was the definition of beauty and purity, someone who carried an aura of elegance everywhere she went, someone who could do no wrong... Someone who died giving birth, leaving her only daughter in the hands of a brutal father who abused Isabelle every passing moment after the death of his wife.
Isabelle, now covered in cuts and satisfied, dropped the heavy kitchen knife on the bathroom floor and climbed into the bathtub. She sank into the tub, laying in a pool of her own blood that stained her beautiful white summer dress. She closed her eyes as her tears fell, excruciatingly stinging her face as they trickled down her black eye and into the cuts that littered her once beautiful complexion. Her face was now distorted from the injuries her father inflicted upon her, barely living up to the beauty of the name "Isabelle".
"I was supposed to be beautiful..."she whispered to herself.
"I wish I could be saved and salvaged. Given another chance... but alas, we all can't always get what we want" She told herself.
Her final words echoed in her head as she slowly submerged her head in the pool of her blood. She deliberately paused her breathing without any intentions of resuming it. She felt a strain in her throat and her body was telling her to breathe in, but she couldn't. She wouldn't.
"What if you can be saved ?"
Was this a factor of death ? Hallucination ? Because there was no way... she couldn't finish her thought process as she was pulled out of the blood bath. Her eyes reluctantly shot open, only for them to be blessed by a beautiful man. He had reddish brown hair like hers, and beautiful brown eyes that could shine brighter than the sun. His smile filled Isabelle with a new feeling of warmth, one she hadn't felt in a long time. He was dressed in an all white suit, giving him a look of purity. One could mistake him as an... angel.
He leaned closer to her face, "You can and will be saved". His voiced was so smooth and... angelic. It soothed her. It was like a lullaby to her ears, and lullabies were meant to make you fall asleep. So that's exactly what she did. Whether intentionally or not, her eyelids were too heavy to lift and she fell into an undisturbed, peaceful slumber. "That's right, go to sleep. You will be given a second chance."
Suddenly, there was a bright light that pierced through Isabelle's eyelids. Her eyes instinctively shot open, but she was utterly confused. Her surroundings were unfamiliar. It wasn't like her usual dull messy bedroom, only filled with a bed and basket for her clothes. Instead, this room was a complete contrast. The walls were bright white. Her bed, a king-sized bed, was the fluffiest and most comfortable thing she's ever laid on and a soft shade of baby blue. The room was wonderfully decorated with abstract paintings and actually looked like a bedroom with all the proper furniture, unlike her old bedroom. She put her feet down and came in immediate contact with a soft carpet that nearly had her jumping off and back onto her bed. To say she was surprised was an understatement. Her bedroom was never this comfortable, the environment here was so new. She walked towards the door, determined to find answers as to where she was, but paused in her step when she turned her head and saw what she was wearing in the mirror beside her. The dress was a beautiful shade of pastel pink, her favourite colour, and it flowed down to her ankles. Her hair was tied into a clean braid. Her face... was no longer littered with cuts and bruises, finally showing her beautiful face shape and complexion. Her eyes... were beautiful. They were a vibrant blue colour, the same colour as when she was younger, until her father became an alchoholic when she was only 14 years old. Yet, here she was, starring back at her reflexion as if she never changed. She was a carbon copy of her mother. The same mother she thought she could never live up to...
