Miranda watched as the doctors walked through the hallways with the new boy.
She looked with general curiosity and scanned him as they led him to his room that was down the hall from hers. His skin was pale and a large wade of cotton had been taped to his left wrist. It was obvious that he was in the psychiatric hospital due to self harm, but something else seemed funny about him as he looked around at everything with a dull look in his eyes. The two made eye contact for a second before he was put into his room and the door shut behind him. The doctors gave her raised eyebrows as they noticed her watching from around the corner of her doorway. “Isn’t it time for you to be getting to sleep, Miranda?”
She nodded her head, and shut the door to her room. As she closed it and rested her back against the wood, she sighed to herself. “Looks like another person has joined the party. I’m sure I’ll be seeing him either crying praying at breakfast tomorrow. Sounds like fun.”
You’re awful. Spying on somebody like that? You should be ashamed of yourself.
Miranda looked across the room where she saw a figure sitting on the edge of the bed. “Oh, Blaze. I didn’t see you there.”
The figure looked just like Miranda; without the detail. The demon was pure white, with hints of darker energy that made her look like the static on an empty television station. Her body was nothing but energy and voltage, and she looked like a lightning bolt that had been stenciled in to shape a person. Her eyes were a cool blue that peered over at the girl judgingly. Everytime Miranda had ever tried to explain what Blaze looked like, everyone just laughed at her or called her crazy. They didn’t believe her when she told them a figure lived in her head and gave her awful advice. Most of it only made her constant anxiety worse. Deadly, even.
Of course you didn’t. The figure muttered, in a very sassy voice. You’re always too busy judging others, apparently.
“It’s not like that.” Miranda told the demon, as she went over and sat on the bed beside her. “I was just curious is all. He’s different from the other people I’ve seen here so far.”
A jeweled knife is still dangerous. Blaze warned. Don’t talk to him. Don’t look at him. Don’t think about him. Boy’s are dangerous and will cause you nothing but harm and bad thoughts.
“You’re a bad thought.” Miranda warned her.
Blaze stayed silent.
Miranda looked down at her cotton pants and shirt the hospital had given her to wear for the next few weeks. She had been sentenced to one month of therapy and group activities after her latest...attempt. Her parents weren’t too proud of her at the moment and forbid her from returning home until she felt better. Until things finally changed.
They never did understand her anxiety, or how bad her mental illness had gotten over the years. She scratched at her thighs, where the itching had gotten worse.
You needed to do it, Love. Blaze told Miranda, in a suddenly sweet and sickly voice. It was the only way to gain control during your anxiety attack. I’m very proud of you for it. Next time, let’s try to make it even bigger, okay?
Miranda felt tears bead her eyes and she shot up from the bed and walked over to a mirror that hung on the wall above a small dresser she had stored some of her belongings from home inside. In the mirror, a girl with long blonde hair and purple highlights looked back at her. She constantly changed her hair color depending on her mood. Most of the time she kept it something vibrant and exciting in an attempt to take the attention away from her naturally stressed personality.
She also had three tattoos on her arms, and planned to get many more throughout her life. On her upper right bicep sat a moon over a waterfall, while an elephant’s head was on the underside of that arm. On the underside of her left arm was a pair of ornate and decorated scissors that gleamed with black, detailed ink. She loved her tattoos, and was an enormous fan of art of all kinds. It was her dream to die as a living piece of art, and believed that humans should try harder in general to decorate themselves like she did. It made you special. Unique.
A feeling of pleasure filled her as she thought about her tattoos, but it quickly faded away as she looked at her face in the mirror.
Her face was round and swollen from the crying, and her gray eyes were tinged with red. “I look awful.”
It’s the price that comes with success, Love. Blaze told her from the bed.
“I suppose I better take a look at it.” Miranda told herself, as she started to pull down her pants. She pushed them past her knees and looked down at her thighs. At the tops of both were layers upon layers of scars that criss crossed like a quilt of red lines. Fresh lines on the very bottom were darker than the others, and they appeared irritated but not infected. Miranda wiped more tears from her face, as she pulled up her pants. Her parents had sent her away again when they learned of the most recent act of self harm. It had been another visit to another psych hospital. Another place for her to feel crazy. Another place to talk about Blaze.
“I wish you would just disappear.” Miranda said, as she looked at Blaze in the reflection of the mirror.
I’m stuck with you for life. Blaze told her, as the vision gleamed a large smile. You better get some sleep, Love. Another long day waits for you in the morning.
Miranda cried herself to sleep that night as Blaze’s grip tightened around her body. The static wrapped around her like a rope that squeeze every ounce of happiness out. As her sadness guided her into a fitful sleep of nightmares, Blaze watched over the girl with an evil grin until finally fading away into the night.

Later the next day, Miranda sat across a large oak desk in front of her therapist, Dr. Monet.
Dr. Monet was a very thin...