Author's Note: I want to thank two of the nicest, most amazing people for helping me work on this scene for the past month. Roxy Fan 4 Ever and Ruby Casablanca- you two were the best help. Thank you so much for everything you did to help me. You have no idea how grateful I am for having such wonderful authors help me. Thank you for believing in me as a writer. I can't wait to continue working with both of you.

WARNING: CONTAINS DARK THEMES AND TRIGGERS FOR SELF HARM

Musa shivered as she turned off the cold water from the shower she had just taken. The music fairy reached out and grabbed her bathrobe before stepping out onto the cold tiles of the bathroom floor. Putting her hair up into a bun, she made her way across the room before looking into the mirror on the medicine cabinet. Sighing, Musa opened the cabinet and took out a glass cube that held cotton balls. She removed the small white balls slowly and carefully from the cube, as if they were unhatched eggs. After turning the water on, Musa put all her force into throwing the cube down against the blue tiles, shattering it against the floor, using the water to cover the sound of the breaking glass.

The cacophonous noise rang dully in Musa's ears as she stared at the broken glass in a trance, looking for the sharpest piece. One caught her eye, a thin shard with uneven edges. She picked it up and balanced it between her fingers, examining her tool.

Perfect, she thought as she sat down, her back leaning against the door.

She rolled up one of her sleeves just like she had so many times before, revealing numerous scars of all different shapes and colors. Some were weeks old and milky white while some were freshly made from the few nights before, angry and inflamed from being kept under long sleeves. She stared at the scars as if she was having second thoughts about what she was about to do.

This was always the part where she hesitated, that part when her conscience got in the way of her plans. She wished it would go away permanently. After a few seconds of collecting her thoughts and shoving that nagging voice back into the depths of her mind, she took the glass and laid it on a rare, clean spot upon her skin. She pushed it against her arm, gently at first as if to test the waters. The sting was immediate, skin not yet broken but yelling out in protest, a warning not to go any further. But she was not satisfied with a mere buzz. She wanted more.

As she made her way through the first layer of skin, the fragile tissues yielding to the edge of the blade, she thought to herself why she was doing this.

I want to die. I am so alone. I have no one. Everyone hates me. No one loves me.

She pushed the glass further into her arm.

I won't be alone anymore. I'll be with my mom again. We will be together and she will love me.

Musa continued to push the glass harder until her skin finally gave way. She winced as she felt the familiar pain punctured skin, her body raging against the germs and oxygen that it was assaulted with. Her eyes became watery, and she looked up and quickly shut them.

With her eyes shut, she changed course and started to pull the glass further, dragging it across her forearm until she felt something cold going down her arm. A thin band in the wake of her devastation. She knew what it was immediately. Blood.

She looked down to see the sticky crimson run down her arm in beads that could only look like tear drops. She watched in utter fascination as it slowly fell from her elbow onto the floor.

In all her destruction, Musa still wasn't satisfied. She pushed the glass even further into her arm until she felt the pain reach supernova. Her arm that had once exploded with pain now started to tingle until it became completely numb. Deep down she knew she should stop there, that something was severely wrong, but she couldn't bring herself to do so.

There was so much blood, no longer running in those simple drops. It was gushing, streaming down in rivers. Each breath became more painful. Her mind was beginning to blur as she watched the puddle of her own fluids grow and stain the throw carpet on the floor, tainting the pure white with vivid scarlet.

But her body wouldn't let her quit. She wouldn't stop this punishment, this fate she thought she deserved. She took the glass and placed it over one of the older scars from her previous cuts. She tore into her skin voraciously and ripped open the scars, making them bigger in the process.

Musa moved to her other arm, creating cuts, opening scars, and going deeper into her skin, causing her to hit more vessels. She was a force to be reckoned with, a storm that could not be stopped until it had wreaked all its havoc. She looked at the piece of glass, her poison of choice, stained with the red of blood. She looked at her arms, also stained with the color.

She could no longer feel her fingers, all sensation long since lost. It was a miracle she could still cause herself harm after what surely had severed so many of her nerves. She was too lightheaded now to even stay upright, her whole body slumping against the door like a rag dolls. She let the glass fall through her fingers, slicing the tips open in the process. She looked in the direction of the shattered cube, trying to focus on it. Her vision was becoming blurry; everything she saw was in a constant fog.

Then reality hit her.

She was dying. The lightheadedness, the blood loss, the numbness. How long she had waited to be rid of her pointless life, but now that she was actually feeling the sensations she had strove for, she felt strangely unprepared. She didn't want to die, and only now was she realizing this, when she was less than two steps away from death's front door.

Why did I do this to myself? To be loved? To be with my mother? Why would she love me? I push away everyone who ever cared about me. People did love me but now…

Musa didn't get to finish her thought before she was assaulted with an intense nausea. She was so startled by the sensation of sickness that she fainted. Her head met the tile floor with a sickening crack, and then she felt nothing at all.