That's the eye of misfortune right?

I hate you. I hate you because you made Gilbert look panicked, and I hate you because you made Jack look sad.

Yes. It's not my fault. It's all yours, you filthy hypocrite, you foul, dirty thing that dares to masquerade as pure. That suits you perfectly; white is the hue that has all colors in it, and they dance around until the energy they produce renders their container dazzling and elegant in its borrowed glory.

You're nothing but a mirror, a reflection, an inverted thing of the Alice that lives in the tower.

But I detest you anyways, even if that makes me insane for detesting something that's not even tangible.

You know things. Sometimes–no, all the time–you tell me, probably because I'm the only one that will believe you know them. Because you're so much of a threat to me that I have no choice but to believe them. I loathe you even more for making me your confidant.

So this is my chance, right? I can get back at you through your blasted wall, the thing that blocks you from being harmed.

I slice. She's black. Empty. Just something that you crafted to conceal you. Maybe I'm overestimating you on that one, but it seems like something you'd do.

So I slice again. Red rushes out, running in little rivers down my palms. No, not even close.

She twitches pathetically towards that stupid cat, one of the only things that you two have in common. All of a sudden, the room spins sickeningly, and I fall to my knees as the whole damned place disappears, me with it.

I vomit.

You're not even stained, even though you're dancing around in the blood that's falling through the cracks of the two worlds.

I hate you and how you can laugh so happily. I hate how you can dance when there's no music with your demented cat that's now a chain. (Its eyes are bandaged though, so there's some satisfaction in that.)

You know that too.

But you don't know why I hate you the most. I hate a lot of people. I hate the people that lie, the people that practice philanthropy to satiate their self satisfaction, and I hate me. But I hate you even more than I hate myself, simply because you're nowhere near my level. Because you're so much higher.

So yes, I'm jealous of you.

But you'll never know this, so it's okay.

Author's note:

This was written for my friends.