Disclaimer: I don't own Blood+.
Claimer: This fan fiction and all its errors are mine.
Dedicated to An Act of Seven Ages.

They all thought she was crazy.

Crazy.

They always used the word to describe her. Everyone of them – from the most unwise to the seemingly most sensible… from the most admirable to the most piteous… from the most loyal to the most traitorous… from the most principled to the most unethical… from the weakest to the strongest…

They all thought she was crazy.

Crazy.

Everything she did – from her smallest twitch to her biggest shift… from her most childish smile to her most mocking laughter… from her most innocent question to her most deadly threat…

They all thought it was crazy.

They all thought she was crazy.

Crazy.

It was how things worked in the cruel world she lived in. The acts – her acts – which the pathetic humans did not comprehend, were considered crazy. Everything which did not conform was considered crazy. Everyone who did not conform was considered crazy.

They all thought she was crazy.

But was she?

Was she really crazy?

She was crazy, because she did not follow the rules. She was crazy, because she did not play the game of conventionality. She was crazy, because she did not express herself the way others did. She was crazy…

Crazy.

They all thought she was crazy.

She was crazy because she slaughtered for her own amusement. She was crazy, because she wanted bloodshed, destruction, chaos, and confusion. She was crazy because she had a heart which never loved. She was crazy because she had a heart which always hated.

She was crazy, because they wanted her to be crazy.

Indeed, they wanted her to be crazy. Humans… such pitiful, hypocritical humans… they considered her crazy because they did not understand her. Or more accurately: They did not even try to understand her. They could not be bothered with too trivial a thing.

They thought her crazy, because she had an anger which could never be pacified. She had a desire which could never be satisfied. She had a hate which never faded. She had a mocking smile which never wavered.

What they simply did not realize was it was them who made her the way she was. It was them who made her who she was.

It was them who made her crazy.

From their most childlike curiosity to their cruelest intentions, she had emerged frightened, timid, childish, unable to express herself, and scarred. She had emerged without the knowledge of how to love and how to be loved, of how to care and how to be taken care of.

She had emerged lonely.

She had emerged angry.

And now they were all looking at her, thinking she was crazy.

It was wrong.

They were wrong.

She was not crazy.

Diva was not crazy.

They were crazy.

…crazy…