Prologue

I knew you. Skin as pale as death with eyes as dark as a closed box. You liked to wear pretty dresses that always got other’s attention. Raven hair, which matched the darkness of your eyes, fell to your waist. Hands. Soft Hands. It amazed me that you possessed cottoned-skin when you had done so much wrong. Shoving me into the closet, like the last box of potatoes into the sturdy storage house, and slammed the doors shut with that despairing look.  A look that let me know the torture for the day was done. Your white hands brushed your dark hair as you made your way back to the house. A Mansion fit for a dainty princess such as yourself.  You would look at me, my dark face passive as you forced an awkward smile. Once, you stared at me for five seconds; your eyes threatening me.

I knew you. You pressed me against the back of the storage house and kept on hitting me. Your warm hand muffled my screams as you pulled my hair, scraped my face, cut my body and left me to dwell in my own misery. My body screamed through the pores. The sweat told of my hatred; the blood told of my pain. I collapsed against you like a worn doll that had been played with too often. Your dark eyes stared into mine. You spat onto my face. My hair was cut the next day, because of the vile acid you poured on it. I saw you standing in your window one morning with a black rope in your hand. I knew from the way you smiled; it was my hair.

I knew you. Your eyes filled with unprecedented fear that caused the beating of my heart to pause and the blood to rush to my head. Pain like I had never known coursed through my body. It was as if Death himself had volunteered to steal the life from inside me. You stood in the doorway with your long hair in disarray and your pale face impassive. But your eyes. Your eyes could speak volumes. I saw the envy and despair.

I knew you. You smiled at me in sheer disgust then you came at me. Father never believed the things you did to me while he gave me a lecture of the lack of respect he had for liars. I stared at you. You. You had done this to me. You wrapped your fingers around my neck and held my breath to slow the beating of my heart, but it thudded until I felt my brain explode. When I awoke, you knelt beside me smiling. You told father I had fainted and that you saved me. I cried.

I knew you. The day ‘he’ died. When I leapt to his side and kissed him on the lips for one last time… A few days later, at his funeral, I stood to the side of the crowd discontent and unhappy. I was dressed in a dull gray sweater with my shoulder length hair no longer black, but a disgusting gray color. I wanted to throw up. The people were filthy and disgusting. They were angry. Why were they angry? I reached for you as the girl at the top of the steps pulled me forward. You told them it was my fault. I screamed at my father. “Please!” Something hard hit my face. Blood ran from my lip to the dry dirt. My father stared at me as if I were the most disgusting thing he had seen. You. You smiled. I closed my eyes when I had gotten the public canning. I choked on my breath when I heard the sound. While I thought… why?

I knew you. You killed the only man who I ever loved and the only one who had ever loved me. You pushed me into the water. You risked my life. He saw me; he tried to save me. He was the one who lost his life because of me. I have always thought that before. Not now. It was your fault. You avoided me after that. You spoke to me only when addressed to during meetings. You were father’s pet. I was…the outcast. I would also suppose that the hole in the middle of my chest is representative of what happened to me…

You made me… the outcast.