a moonlight gaze that's so gentle, lies one who's unsure. they've been unsure for a long time.
the brightest of red for hair, reach to one's waist. wine that looks like, seems to of taste.
to walk in the forest, rain droplets on the tongue. it's so nice to just find yourself in a state of ecstasy, once where you're lonely but you learn to accept it.
the red, long hair, seeming longer than a merciful fate. footsteps. one two, one two.
one, two. a scythe in the hand of the one with red.
the forest continues to cry with the sky, the droplets falling as the steps grew louder. the sages, the green, the sticks and branches you lean. the sky's exhausted, but a lot of us are.
the scythe crawls with the silk, red glow of the hair of the one. to continue walking with the heavy steps of black boots who've seen the fate of others.
one, two. drop, walk.
one, two. drop, walk.
to reach a dimension where your levels of purity and sense suddenly fade, like a witch drinking a potion swiftly of your sanity. the scythe drops to the ground, the blood splattered to be just as red as their hair.
"a name to be said, sweetheart. send me to that dimension, where there is no positivity, no negativity.", a voice demanded. it had more happiness than fear of a dimension ready to drain them to the maximum, until they've died of exhaustion to being alive.
one, two. drop, walk.
and suddenly all that was left was the trimmed piece of silky, red hair. the scythe fallen to the ground, it's memories and the blood of sanity sacrilege slowly fading to the rain. it's pain fade, it's memories made.
there was a room of dark, but not one you've ever seen. darker than your thoughts, but brighter than the feeling of excitement.
the gentle humming came to be, and there was soon a tall, pale figure with short, red hair. the same color, the same feel. it didn't wrap around their waist anymore, but their shoulders where it could finally rest in peace.
the voice didn't continue, only humming.
one, two. no drop, just walk.
one, two. no drop, just walk.
one, two.
and another parallel version, one with mistakes and regrets. one with injuries and hurt. it's eyes, full of daydream and nightmare, staring back at the short-haired perfection of a robot to seem like.
"what is it like?", the imperfected one asked.
"what is what like?", the real one, replied. a look of satisfaction, but confusion was plastered on their face.
"what is it like to be the one with red?"
and suddenly everything stopped. the world where an imperfection suddenly faded, and if it were to ever come back, it'd be severely looked down on.
you'd guess it would be okay, but now it'd never be.
it'd never be right to be perfect. it'd never be right to not be perfect.
a world of emptiness and pure insanity. the motion of the leaves in the past didn't move how the original one saw it.
how the one with red saw it. before they had their memories, their silk, red memories cut before them. their pale body bare, to be suddenly full of all their regrets, and pain.
how the one with the red hated it.
how the one with the red, finally lost the title, "perfect."
the one with red.