(if you’re reading it - sorry for my english)
I’m starting to feel like something strange, weird haunts me. It has a face of a pretty young woman with snow-white hair. Her eyes are blue, she looks a bit ill, her skin - almost transparent. She never touches the ground, she is always floating around, whispering in my ear.
"You can do better. You can, I believe in you…"
Huh. Who thought I would see art in her eyes? Who thought I would try to look like her? Her thin fingers pierce my shoulders but there’s no pain. Only happiness.
She was right. I could do better. Actually, I’m still going forward. I don’t cut - I have never cut myself in my life. I don’t drink or smoke - beauty must be eternal. I cut down on food - this thing is only for survival. I feel better, I live happily, I inspire people. All because of her. She doesn’t have a name but she has a lot of faces. Sickness is my muse.
My name is Adamia Harrison and I am sick.