A/N: After repeatedly reading "How To Handle Pain" by Sophia Crutchfield, and having lots of procrastination with writing as of late, I developed an idea, and I thought that I should try the "guess who's narrating" thing like she did with her story, since the idea is quite brilliant and it gives me total suspense on guessing who her narrators are. Also, I'm pretty sure I know who the narrator is in her story...but I might be wrong...just like you guys might be for my own, ah. I recommend reading her story, by the way. It's quite breathtaking.

Pairing: Mabel/Pacifica

Genre: Angst as always, because I'm not really a huge fluffy romance fan as my attempts to write proper fluff have failed miserably since it always leaves me astonishingly clueless. I'm either good at writing angst or smut, there's nothing in between.

Plot: Basically, the main focus here is that one of the girls was depressingly suicidal and, not being able to resist the temptations anymore, she eventually committed and a tragedy lived on. The other girl, however, is...well, narrating this story. I will not reveal which girl has done which action, but just like Sophia did in her stunningly marvelous story, I will let you guys attempt to figure out which ones they are in the reviews, although I might drop a few hints or two later on.

Disclaimer: Gravity Falls and all of its' characters belong not to me but to Alex Hirsch, and it will forever remain that way.

Do you know what it feels like to watch someone that you immutably, profusely loved and adored, slip vulnerably between your fingers? Do you know what it's like, to feel as if she's secretly suffering inside, and in return you start feeling that way as well? Then, you see the same loss of innocence in her that you've only ever seen in yourself, and you just start loathing yourself because of it.

All your mind feels is bittersweet loathsomeness knowing the pure, disturbing fact that you'll never get her back, not by a landslide. In the end, it's all the same anyway, since she had no longer had control of her own will, her own volition. I, unfortunately, have started to do the same, and let me tell you, it feels absolutely mortifying.

Well, that's exactly how I felt on that fateful, earth-shattering night. I felt...betrayed and ashamed, not at her but rather, at myself. My efforts had been irrevocably futile in saving her, and to this day I still feel pathetic for not saving her in time, and not even noticing what had been wrong with her in the first place. I still feel sick, I still feel as if knives had been violently stabbed through my abdomen and I cannot stop bleeding, and I have treacherous feelings of resentment buried beneath me, depression has utterly fucked me over although I attempt to remain justified. It's a mask that is difficult to maintain but nevertheless it keeps, and has continuously kept, people from knowing the real me. You never know whose life can be saved or destroyed by every little passing motion of time, so my life is in the fast lane. It's probably aggravating to people but in reality, all I wanted was to disengage myself from the truth.

Our relationship was just something else, you know? It was hilarious and we developed constant, flirtatious banter over it. At first, we had despised each other with a seemingly insurmountable passion, but ultimately we were forced to spend more and more time together and yet each of us had actually grown to like the recurrent experiences. The encounters blossomed into an endearing friendship, and that eventually blended us together as a couple. It was so amazing how interchangeably we fit together, underneath that painful, botanical vine of abhorrence lied the gorgeous flowers that had beautifully bloomed combining us as one.

I feel as if ever since she passed on...no, ever since I watched her fade into the void of extinction with my own eyes, it was as if someone had trapped me inside a neverending trance, or some electroshock that has caused my personality to immediately switch and become a complete reincarnation of her. Ever since she lamented, I have begun to steal all of her characteristics and slowly, psychologically evolve them into my own mind.

I started wearing all of her old clothes, which used to completely bask in her saccharine scent but due to the amount of years they have spent on my body, her sweet scent was long replaced with my own. I bought a number of different dyes until I had the exact colour figured out to match her naturally coloured hair, and in result I coloured my hair to mirror her soft, flowing, luscious locks, which I loved softly running my hands through when I had the time.

I have even started to act exactly like her, which was pretty difficult, well naturally at first, since I wasn't fairly used to that sort of lifestyle. Sure, it may have turned a few heads from the citizens of our small little town, but I was much too focused to care. Not that I would have cared in the first place. Due to my new personality, I have lost as well as befriended many new and unusual people. But you know, like I mentioned before, no one really knows me, and they don't dare to attempt to enter inside the cavern of susceptibility that rests throughout my troubled mind. Looking past the barriers, forcing a glance at myself in the mirror is one of the hardest things I could ever try to achieve. It just reminds me of her, and the fact that I am now merely almost a reflection of her, it still haunts me and it will forever haunt me, and I am too burdened with the loss of the real her to feel the need to accept that.

Honestly, I do this because I just still need to keep her memory alive, and feel her reminiscence on myself, literally. To remind the residents of Gravity Falls as well as the entire universe that she does still exist, somewhere. I would never go as far as stealing her name, though, that would be entirely disrespectful in itself. I still use my own moniker, however, if you took one glance at me, you would recognize me, not as myself but as her.

I never wanted to go back to the old me. The old me was too distracted and pathetic to fathom what was really wrong with the one I had apparently claimed to love the most, and as a result I was traumatically forced to watch her die right in front of my cold eyes. I mentally struck myself in the head almost every day and worms writhed in my skull, being constantly reminded of that rigorous fact. I wanted to be someone else. I couldn't have her back, so the only available option left was to become her altogether.

I guess I'm getting the philosopher treatment, because I am starting to have glowing wonders about what it would be like to fade out. After a period of what seemed like a millennium to me of maintaining the facade, just to keep the mask from slipping a little longer, I return to the bathroom in my apartment of isolation once again avoiding my own reflection as I walk past. I take the word "bloodthirsty" to an entirely improved level as I forcefully bite the inside of my cheek, absolutely loving the metallic taste of the crimson blood pouring out from inside of me.

After a few attempts, I finally look deep into the panel and my memories reminisce back to the previous version of myself, and according to my mind I do not know why I am trying to replace her, because it honestly only makes the trigger even worse and it fairly does not do anything better. I spent years trying to forget what happened although it is irrevocably impossible to exonerate me, and I've spent years eventually regretting my entire existence altogether for the action I have failed to prevent. If she never forgives me for this, inside the painful afterlife once I too decide to have my time one day, I will definitely not blame her, because oh, alas, I am a guilty one and I know what I have done and what I have failed to do.

I do not deserve to be acknowledged, let alone forgiven.