A/N It's amazing what pops in your head during those emo stages of youth. No offense meant to anyone by that statement. :D

Violin

Waiting like a violin of blood for her master to play her. No matter the pain that results, she is always eager for the next session, for it is those sessions that mark her existence. Waiting, waiting, the haunting melody of notes bleeding into the dark night. The days are spent wasting away in a dusty old book, never taking awareness of the stories the ink spells out. Forgetting the rules of life and responsibility, she lets her soul be consumed by this unfulfilling desire. Always seeking more where there is none, blinding herself from the truth she so strongly advocates, nothing is the way it should be. And the master, yes the master, doth play her well, never noticing the stains he leaves behind from their sessions. The stains that give her incentive to wait another day, another night, for him to play her again.