Narrowed eyes framed by pixie hair that made me jealous. White teeth, perfect, clenched with rage. Trying to hide inside myself wouldn't work, I'm not a magician. She stands there, just watching her. She's not defending me, not casting her own glare, but not telling her to shut up, to stop picking on me, She watches with minor fascination, and that's when She's gone. Plucked from the garden of neat flowers that is my life. Plucked by her. She would be replanted one day, but not without a couple of petals missing. I thought they were beautiful, almost like battle scars and I followed Her everywhere until She was plucked and now.............you know what's? I don't think I miss her.