She still persisted, an echo of resistance. No one cared to understand how or why, yet there she remained, forever pale, hauntingly empty, like a specter adrift in the night, so transparent and desperately in love. The cruelest irony? She bore all the weight. Her inner torment, her uncontrollable chaos, had twisted everything into this desolate state. She was so imperfect, such a tangled mess.

"Whose cruel jest is this…?" she wondered, as burning tears traced paths down her porcelain cheeks. No matter how hard she tried to grasp the malice of her existence, her exhausted mind found no comfort in any explanation.

How sadistic must one be to condemn her spirit to wander through the cold, unfeeling night, watching as the one she adored with every shard of her broken heart moved forward as if nothing had happened? It’s exquisite cruelty, isn’t it?

She clutched her chest with the little strength left in her ghostly form, weeping in total despair. Her thoughts felt distant, fractured, as if her head had been violently severed from her body.

The night that once gave her solace now felt like a void, a realm that mirrored her inner emptiness. She could no longer find peace in its silent embrace. Only agony remained, a wound festering through the vast darkness. The stars offered no comfort, merely reflecting the cold indifference of a world that seemed to have forgotten her.

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She was the Moon, once luminous, now reduced to nothing more than a hollow shadow of what she had been. Her light, once revered, had become faint and tarnished, burdened by every sorrow she had endured. All her attempts to mend the fractures within herself had failed, leaving her in an endless descent into the abyss of despair.

With each passing moment, hope faded like ink in water, spreading until only darkness remained in its wake. The thought of escape, a glimmer of redemption, became nothing more than a cruel joke. How could she, a being made of fragments and pain, ever be whole again? The answer was clear: she couldn’t.

Despair enveloped her like a vise. There was no salvation for her, no light at the end of this tunnel. The endless cycle of torment had brought her to the brink, where only the urge to shatter remained, to free herself from the weight of existence entirely.

The last trace of her will crumbled under the weight of her sorrow. All that was left was to let go, to surrender completely to the abyss. The fractures within her deepened, cracks spreading like cobwebs across the surface of her light.

In that moment, the Moon itself, once a symbol of distant beauty and silent strength, found itself on the verge of total collapse. The night held its breath, suspended between the remnants of a past light and the void that awaited. And in the silence that followed, only one truth remained: even the brightest lights can be extinguished when there’s nothing left to sustain them.

The breaking point was inevitable; despair had finally consumed her completely.