I dedicate this book to all the Belle’s in the world; the hurting, the scared, the self-harming, the suicidal. May this book inspire you to find truth.

I dedicate this book to all the Elaine’s in the world; the healing, the caring, the bold. May this book remind you why you do what you do.

I offer this book up to my Savior, for He is the source of truth, and only by him was I able to write these words.

They watched her from a distance. She was young. Impressionable. Quite pretty. Perfectionistic.

"Is she the one, Master?" Letonus asked. "I like her. She has potential.

Phobonin laughed, malice clear in the sound. "I like her too, Master. I'd love to go after her."

Orphnul nodded. "Her young mind is a palace for us. We can have our free reign in her."

There was silence for a moment. The air swirled with the evil contained.

Cinaed stood, watching the happy girl go along her way. "There is a presence about her that scares me. There is a future planned for her that we cannot allow. This is not an attack for our own enjoyment, but one that will protect us in the future."

Phobonin grinned, "Master, I ask permission to use my skill of instilling fear to use in her young mind."

Cinaed nodded. "I agree, Phobonin. Your skills will be important as this."

Orphnul stepped up. "May I cloth her eyes in darkness, so that all hope escapes her?"

Cinaed smiled. "Of course. Your skills shall assist Phobonin and make our attack even more powerful."

Letonus, eager with bursting pride. "Master, my skill of hiding shall be useful as well, am I not correct?"

Cinaed laughed at the young one. "Of course. Your skill shall make sure that our attack is not noticed by our enemies... or by our victim."

With that, Cinaed turned to all three. His eyes glinted with darkness. "We must be cautious. We can not fail. We must move slowly to infiltrate her mind and, through her mind, control her body. It shall not be long until we use her as a weapon against herself, and death shall come when it's least expected. Yes, this shall be our victory."

“Time seemed to stand still as she looked into his eyes. 

“Begone, I say! You have to authority to stand before me today!”

He fled her as her dark brown curls tumbled out of the bobby pins that had come loose in the battle. Her dark green dress was stained with mud, and her boots were covered in filth. 

She had won. She had one her battle. She took her leave, the carnage of war behi…”

The door knocked.

“Belle! It’s time for you to go already!”

Her own dark brown curls were hidden under a beanie. She grimaced at the idea of leaving the solitary cozy nest of her bedroom, to go to a noisy, overwhelming party. Her mom had insisted that she try to socialize with people her own age.

"It's a nice group of college students. They go to my church, you know. Sweet girls. You'll like them. You should at least give them a chance." Her mom had said.

Belle's thin hands quickly double checked that she had all her needed supplies in her small purse. She hated this idea. She just wanted to stay at her desk and write. She just wanted to be alone where she was safe.

“Now, Belle! You’ll be late!”

She hesitated as she opened the door. She plastered a fake smile on her face and stepped out. 

“I’m going, mom.” She said, heading down the stairs to the car. “Bye”

The drive wasn’t long, but it seemed like an eternity. Sheer dread filled her. She couldn’t do this. Didn’t want to do this. Why on earth was this a “good idea”.

Her thoughts came robotically. Get out of the car. Take a step. Another step. Breathe. Don’t panic.

The door swung open. 

“Hey, you must be Belle!”

She looked up. The girl had long straight blonde hair. So pretty.

Prettier than I’ll ever be.

“Don’t you want to come inside?”

Stupid. You stopped walking. Can’t you function like a normal human for a few minutes.

She forced a nod and headed inside.

Sound. Sound. So much sound. So many people. Too much. Run. Go hide. Protect yourself.

She knew this was a bad idea.

“Um, did you hear me?”

The pretty girl is talking. You missed it. Idiot. Pay attention!

Bella shook her head.

“I asked what college you’re at. I haven’t seen you at HYC…”

Oh no. I have to talk. I can’t do this. Grrrr. Words. Words need to happen.

“I… I…” she sputtered, “I’m not.”

The pretty girl looked confused. “ You’re not going to college? Why not?”

It was too much. Belle simply shrugged and let herself fade into the crowd.

Hide. Find a place to be alone. What do you see. People. Okay. Bad idea, people. Food. No. You’re fat. Don’t eat that. Chairs… with people. Um… um… come on. You can do this. Just find a place to hide and you can calm down. Keep this runaway thought from happening because you’re in danger and you need to panic and freak out you’re a loser idiot stupid worthless…

Bathroom.

She was nearly running. She closed the door to the bathroom as the tears started rolling down her face.

This was a bad idea.

She would calm down. She would drive home. She would hide. It would all be okay.

The black sweater she wore over her red dress slipped off to reveal the rows and rows of scars and open wounds covering her skin. She reached into her purse. She was prepared. Prepared to calm down in the only way she knew how.

The razor blade seemed to almost glisten in the bright florescent light. The cold metal bit into her upper arm. Calmness seemed to flood her mind as the small trickle of blood dripped down her arm. Another small bite, another cut, another small relief from the emotional turmoil inside. 

Just one more. One more. 

Now another one. 

Last one. 

Okay, maybe one more.

You need to stop.

The tears flowed steadily until her arms were covered in shallow but bloody cuts. Calmness had settled in.

There was a science to her art of relaxation.

There were many nights of practice to this science.

And there was a roll of gauze wrapped around the fresh wounds within just a few moments. The sweater was placed back on, the blade washed and tucked safely away.

The evidence was gone.

Dashing to the car worked better than getting to the house. No one seemed to notice the girl with the long brown curls and glasses. That was alright. She liked it that way. She didn't want to be someone. She didn't want to have to be who they wanted her to be.

She couldn't even be who she wanted to be.

The blankets were hers. Safe now. No more people. No more fear. No more…

There was a knock.

“Belle, I'm disappointed. You should have tried to make some friends!”

She just really couldn’t handle this right now.

“Please don’t”, her soft voice pleaded.

“Belle. We should at least talk about it.”

Um, no. Because I don’t want to talk about anything. I don’t want to talk. Just leave me along and I’ll be fine. Let me write. Let me pretend I’m strong and brave. Let me live a life that’s not my own.

“Belle, can I come in?” 

Her quiet voice was edged with fear. “No! Please let me be!”

The voice went away. She was safe. Alone. A bit lonely… but better lonely than stuck in a bathroom with a fresh razor blade. Besides, she had a journal to talk to. A story to live through. She didn't need to make friends or go to parties. She could just stay here... by herself. Alone. 

It was a pitiful way to live.

But it appeared that it was the only way she could.

She grabbed her journal before her mind could rest on the only other option.

“The heavy armor rested comfortably against her strong body as she prepared to go into battle once again. Her sharp sword lay safely in it’s sheath, prepared to be used against the many enemies that warred against her.”

She could really use a sword of her own.

“She was well trained in it’s craft. She would handle it with care, but with great power. She wasn’t afraid of anything. There was nothing she could not win a battle against. She was strong and brave…”

Tears slipped out as her mind imagined someone strong enough to go into a battle. She wondered what it would be like to be brave. Bravery wasn’t something she had experienced lately.

Her fear had become her identity. To change would mean to change who she was to the very core.

That would never happen. There was nothing powerful enough to reach that far into her. Nothing powerful enough to reshape her very nature. Nothing that would have the strength to change her into the warrior of her writing… or even just a person able to step outside her bedroom without freaking out.

Besides, she wasn't worth anything anyways. Might as well just hide herself away forever, where she couldn't disappoint the world with how pitiful she really was.

Another knock. She groaned.

“Yes?” she said weakly, her desire to even see her family gone.

The door opened slowly. Her mom walked over with a tray of food.

“You need to eat, Belle. You’ll feel better if you eat.” She said gently as she set it on the table by the bed.

Belle shrugged. “Fine.”

Her mom sat next to her and wrapped her arm around her. “Is there anything I can do to help you, Belle?”

The strong security was comforting, and yet having a person near her was terrifying. She couldn’t stand this.

“Just go.” She whispered, hurt flooding her voice. “Please just go.”

Her mom gently tucked the blanket around her as she stood. “I love you forever, Belle. Eat, alright Honey?”

Belle just laid silently. Her pain was overwhelming. The thoughts swirled to fast to capture. She couldn’t handle this. Couldn’t keep going. 

Make it stop. Make it stop.

She heard the door close. She had a razor in her hand within seconds. She started searching for a spot to cut. Her arms were sliced up from the party. Her legs had cuts from the nightmares last night. Every inch of her body was covered in scars.

She shrugged. Her stomach was fat and ugly anyways. A few more scars wouldn’t hurt.

It wasn’t frenzied slashing like earlier. No, this was a time for slow deliberate cuts. The razor pushed itself a good depth before pulling slowly. The pain was intense. Intense enough to take her mind off the emotional pain inside. Another inch. Another. She lifted the blade, now covered in dark red blood, and watched the blood trickle out of the deep painful cut. She saw drops getting on her blankets. She didn’t really care. She could wash them later.

She let the cut bleed and throb until the emotional pain eased a bit. She pulled out her first aid kit and gently bandaged the cut. It was deeper than she thought. Mistake. What an idiot. She pulled to sides of the cut together and bandaged it the best she could. She knew it would scar. Ointment now. Try to help it heal.

Just keep going.

Someday she would probably just put the knife deeply down her wrists and let the world fade away forever… but until then, she would let the pain give her life. A pitiful type of life, but life in some way.

How else could she survive?

STUDY GUIDE: Chapter 1

• What is your first impression of Belle? What is different or like to yourself?
• Belle reacted to her fear by reaching for a razor blade to cut with. Self-harm was her coping mechanism. Do you have a coping mechanism?
• Belle mentions that “fear had become her identity”. What would you place as your identity?
• Belle feels that there’s nothing powerful enough to save her. Do you ever feel that way?