"The moon is bleeding because her heart is broken. She has seen much sadness. She has seen the "loveless" crumble under love. She does not so much as cry for humans. She bleeds for the people of the darkness she sees.

"The stars cry too. But they are only crying for the moon. They do not know about the people, or the "loveless", just the moon. And they don't bleed. They just cry.

"The moon weeps for all the broken hearts. They break hers. She has seen love, and it pierced her heart and made her bleed. She will try her best to make all of them better, but it will be hard."

That is what everything is telling me.

When I look in the mirror, I imagine I see in my eyes the bleeding moon, replacing my iris and pupil, and even when I don't, when I see nothing in the mirror, I know it to be true, so I cry tears of blood

I know I have made the moon bleed. I am bad, and do not revel in it now. The moon looks at me with pity even as she dies, and I know I have lost.

I have new dolls now. New dresses. Yet I am not what I was. These dolls whisper behind my back. No-one is here to tell me how smashing I look in these dresses.

The moon stares down, mute. Her blood is running out; now it stains my face and hands, blood bitter and pitiful. It is sad for me. I'd rather it was angry.

I'd rather the moon was angry, too.

I am no longer worshipped. I am an object of pity from the dying, the sick, the meek, the wounded and the pathetic. Strength in my arms does not make up for the weakness in my heart.

Only one thing could make up for that.

And still the moon bleeds and weeps for "love".