Contagious

Hanging from the trapezoidal recommendations for the links inside of the novelist's daydream, she held boiling tea up to her eyes so that she couldn't see what was staring back at her in the mirror. Every time she looked at herself, it seemed like another feature had been blurred away to leave a half-erased version of someone who was once considered beautiful. One day, however, when the purple specked sunrise had begun to fade into the same crystalline blue that hummed in her eyes, everyone realized in a stroke of genius, like a lightning crack to the skin, that they had bit off more than they could chew with her. She was a little bit contagious at all times, and always walked too close, held too tight, and left you with bruises and burns of which you could not identify the source. Under the influence of fairies and rocking in a hammock with a shot of vodka being dripped into her veins, she attempt to reason with the fact that she would never be good for anyone. Truth be told, it was painful enough to feel like death. When she fell asleep, everyone half hoped she wouldn't wake up.