WARNING: This work of fiction contains implications for topics such as death and abusive relationships. 

White powder mimicked the girl’s strawberry scent on that summer day; a faithful reverie that never failed to make her laugh. With the peak pierrot practice mastered as easily as she had done with her words—a slip of the tongue and a slight smile was all that was needed—people were mere playthings, lacking substance as she lacked sympathy.

The threads in her hair were waste, and she was above them…above them—to what extent, although that matters not, for one needn’t concern themselves with the smaller nuances present in one’s faulty ideology. “Love” was her addiction as well as her biggest enemy. It was both id and ego, hell and heaven; to take it from her would allow her to finally live as well as die.

Take me into a dream world filled with your worst nightmares—to the depths of your subconscious, staying up until first sunlight—peace, oh, sweet peace, lay me to rest, for I can no longer stand what blasphemy they spew!

Cerise bloomed upon the night in a show of stars, forever embedded into her mind, as bloody as ever; strawberry cake. The fruit of her labor was in reach. 

Her favorite color was her worst enemy, as was her first love and sweetest accomplice. 

I beg of you to take all of me and spread it amongst the sky until I lay discarded. I beg of you—Cerise lay my blood across your hands as an offering to the sky. Do it so! Peace, sweet peace… a reverie…

“I love you.”

But the clown could only give a painted smile as she turned the final page of the last lamb’s book. 

“Scarlet blossoms as love does not, so foe, oh, sweet foe, grasp my hand and pull me in! Allow me to breathe! Allow me to cease! Cerise! Sweet Cerise, allow me to live at the beginning of my end—kiss me until my breath is far gone, and stop only when my skin has grown as cold as your heart.”