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She’s cold. She knew she would be. Knew she could not afford to lose the warmth of the cloak. But she gave it away anyways. Gave it to someone with clothes less weathered and torn then her own. She tried to stop herself. Tried to remind her mind and the thing how cold the night’s got when the sun was no more. But it was no use, the shadow cloak that followed her, the one that speaks only to her, is louder than she has ever been. Even in her own mind.
It told her she was being selfish. That she didn’t need to be warm so much as she needed too be liked. That it would be her warmth. She knew better. She knew when everything was over that she would be cold and angry with herself for giving in. For giving up. It couldn’t not keep her warm. It could not do anything for her. It had nothing and was nothing. Just a voice. “But she never could trust her own mind, could she?” It reminded her. “She had to trust it. It would help her be a better person. Didn’t she want to be a good person? Was that not all she needed in life? It could give her that” it insisted.
She was beginning to understand that being liked was not what she needed but what it needed. It had to keep her second guessing herself, to keep her needing its advice. That’s how it survived. It fed off all the sad and negative things in her life and in her head. But how to combat what you are pretty sure you somehow created, what you gave life and gave control?
It would never let her go. She knew that without it telling her and she didn’t have the strength or the energy to fight it. It was stronger than she could ever hope to be after all she had given up in its making.
Where did that leave her? What was she to do? The girl shivered and curled even tighter together. The night was to close and she was to cold to fight it tonight. But tomorrow would begin a new story. And maybe, just maybe she could find a way to be the one to write it.