Lyrics from Treasure by Flyleaf. This is not a songfic, however, because I just repeat lyrics an' such.

More I-want-to-be-loved crap.

That night I felt like I'd become something treasured, different.

You needed their love. You needed their praise. You strived for it—and yet, you never received it. Your efforts were written off with tiny thank yous and icy kisses on your forehead. You helped with those younger than you, gave your friends advice. You watched on as they paired off, one by one, leaving you in the dark. You wouldn't admit that you wanted her. You let her dance off with Mistoffelees, grinned and giggled with your friends on the sidelines.

You were the last one left. The only chaste little queen left. Your friends badgered you about Pouncival—but you didn't want him. You still wanted her—but she was so happy, so bubbly and carefree, tiny fingers forever tangled in that tiny Magician's. If only she—if only all of them—knew of the wheels turning in your head, melting, burning.

Refined, I'll become the most dazzling precious treasure.

I'll be treasured all over the Earth.

You became monotone. Yes, Jenny. You're welcome, Jenny. It's okay, Jemima. (You loved her so much.) They asked you what was wrong, asked you to play with them. You saw the concerned looks they gave you when you didn't want to dance, thanks. You couldn't dance with them. You couldn't sing. Why would you need to? They ripped your solo apart, gave three words to that white queen who, apparently, can sing too. That white queen who apparently sings better than you.

Sometimes, you just wanted to sleep. You were so tired. You felt so guilty—they loved you, didn't they? They needed you. And yet, you didn't dazzle them. You didn't shine. You were nothing like a diamond.

Refined, I'll become the most dazzling precious treasure.

I'll be treasured all over the Earth.

Maybe you were like an artist, you thought. Your work—your life—would seem more valuable once it was gone. But no—you couldn't leave them. Victoria needed you. Etcetera needed you (what a nice little sister she was). She needed you.

Sometimes you forgot you were alone—no mate, at times no friends. It was like a chain reaction—Jemima. (Why didn't she love you?) Etcetera. Victoria. You. You were supposed to come first—alas, your heart was taken. Purloined and ripped apart by petite hands you longed to hold, by big brown eyes you wished could meet your own.

Couldn't you be her treasure? The thought made you laugh. Mistoffelees shined for her. She didn't need anyone else. Not like you could shine, anyway. You held no magic, you weren't beautiful, you weren't desirable.

She was your most dazzling, precious treasure.

It tore you apart.

Refined, I'll become the most dazzling precious treasure.

I'll be treasured all over the Earth.

On a night when the wind blew you around like an autumn-ravaged leaf (brown and worthless) you made your decision. You would dazzle all of them. You would dazzle them like a star, like your ancestors up in Heaviside.

You had no plan, merely a goal you needed to reach. So you aimed for the sky, climbed the tallest junk pile you could find. You could see no one—no flashes of white, black, red. It was simply you, miles above the Earth, the moon (she really did cherish the moon) just outside of your reach.

Maybe, just for this moment, you'll dance. You'll pretend it's light out, pretend you're on the ground with your friends, maybe you'll pretend you're in a field of pansies. At this moment, you are everyone's most precious possession.

But as you twirl off of the junk pile, you remember you're just some queen committing suicide, a rock amongst diamonds, and that you never really believed in Heaviside.

Tonight I've become the most dazzling precious treasure.
I am treasured over all the earth.

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No, I am not suicidal.