A Perfect Sonnet – That's pretty awesome, the fact that I'm on your faves list already. Yeah the 'mental suicide' thing could have been a reference to one of your poems on account of the fact that I think I was reading your work while writing chapter 2. Hope you don't mind if it is.

Fresianlady – Lol. Kuala Lumpur or K.L as I like to affectionately call it is in Malaysia, which is next to Thailand and is in South East Asia. Him is well… based on a real person and you'll find out soon who he is.

Idolar – thanks for the review! I hope to be seeing more of your comments.

I really am trying to write but I'm having a little trouble with a nasty thing we like to call writers block but I like to call a major mindfuck.

By the way, this story is kind of 'U' shaped. By that I mean that things will begin in the future and slowly fade away into the past with the help of dozens of flashbacks and gradually make it back to the present again. I hope it isn't too confusing for ya'll. This is my first attempt at it so excuse me if it's crap.

Some flashbacks will be obvious. Others will be left for you to decide upon.

(Enter imaginary space break here)

"Psyche!" shrieked Kayli as she barged into Psyche's dorm.

There were sheets of paper cluttered in a circle around Psyche's feet as if they were honoring her presence.

She was a high priestess.

Their high priestess.

Nec fas est propius mortali attingere divos.

"What the hell are you doing?"

Psyche lifted an eyebrow and stared at her friend for a moment, forgetting about how strange she must have looked standing amidst a circle of scribbled paper. Kayli was a strange, strange creature.

Couldn't she see that she was writing?

Or at least brainstorming.

"Nothing," she murmured as she dropped to pick up her notes.

"You know, you're a very strange little person Psyche," said Kayli as she walked closer and sat herself on the bed.

Psyche smiled to herself.

You have no idea.

"So about the Thorston thing," Kayli began to say.

As usual, she was on her tirade to change Psyche's mind.

"I don't like him."

"Why not?" She shouted.

"I just don't.

"But he's popular," Kayli added in hopes that it would help. "And he looks like a fairytale prince."

"But I don't care."

"You're lying."

"I'm not," laughed Psyche.

"Liar."

An awkward silence fell on the room and Psyche shuddered.

"Freak," Psyche muttered.

"Why are you so different?"

Finally, a real question.

(Enter imaginary space break here)

"Why do you care?"

"What's your name?"

Pulling off her black fitted tee, she leant closer to him and whispered, "Shane."

"Well Shane," he said. "You're beautiful."

"So I've been told.

(Enter imaginary space break here)

"Maybe when the night is over," she whispered to herself as she took off her eaphones and put away her green I-Pod.

She was at Bar Blonde for her third consecutive night. Thinking. Writing.

They had been lonely nights.

Empty Nights.

There were many.

Empty nights.

She tucked her hair back behind her ear. Her fingers startled by the icy touch of a hoop earring.

She hated earrings.

Her notebook was open and scrawled across the page were random words.

Love.

War.

Hate.

I.

You.

Who?

There were men.

Many of them.

Tall, short, fat, skinny; all undoubtly rich.

They stood by the bar.

Watching. Waiting.

Working up the nerves to talk to her.

They never did.

She was waiting.

Snow white.

Poison apple.

For whom?

She didn't know either.

Dressed in a fitted black tee and a denim skirt with a chunky studded white belt and three inch ankle boots, she still looked too young to be of drinking age.

She didn't care.

It didn't matter either.

Nothing ever did.

"Can I get you anything?" asked a meek waitress dressed in 80s punk fashion.

She smiled warily and shook her head.

Nobody could.

She had been there since half past nine.

Drinking.

Vodka after vodka after vodka.

Writing.

Pages after pages after pages.

It was almost one in the morning.

Her words no lover bled into the paper like they used to, but much rather, just sat there like oil on water.

There was nothing going on in that vicarious mind of hers.

Strange.

Those insipid neon white lights were beginning to hurt her eyes but she carried on staring at them. She lifted a hand to shield herself as she stared blankly at the ceiling.

Cracks. Chipped paint.

"You are nothing," she mouthed.

Footsteps stamped on the stairs and she heard loud voices talking.

She adored Bar Blonde for its privacy. Its low key clientele. It's ability to be stark raving mad yet soothingly tranquil.

Who dared to stomp on her haven?

And she dropped her gaze from that of the ceiling, to the intruder, her smouldering eyes bore fury into the back of his mind.

She glared at him.

His blonde tipped spikes.

His blue eyes. Clear as the waters of the Maldives.

His black Versace shirt.

His leather Gucci shoes.

Typical.

And a smile that said 'what the hell, why not', crept onto her face as he noticed her presence.

Yes, look here. you like what you see? Yes, these are real.

It would be like fucking Ken.

And she could be Barbie.

And maybe.

Just maybe.

This time.

She could have her happy ending.

Her typical, happy ending.

But nothing's that easy. Is it?

Psyche cocked her head and plastered an inviting smile upon her face and said, "hello there."

(Enter imaginary space break here)

Nec fas est propius mortali attingere divos - No mortal person could come closer to the Gods