Her heart was fragile and small. It was breakable, like porcelain. When she was young, her mother gave her a small box to keep it in so it didn't get hurt; it was a small box, nothing special about it, built of a dark coloured wood with a blue satin lining. She did as she was told and kept her heart there and was careful never to let it out. Occasionally she would crack open the lid to glance at the precious treasure inside with childish curiosity; the heart would always be there, waiting patiently and silently for the day it would be set free.

The years pressed on, and the girl grew older; her heart continued to sit on its self, snuggled away in its box. Soon, the girl met a boy; she loved the boy and wanted to show her affection for him. So moving slowly and carefully, she brought her box down from the shelf and blew the dust off it. It had been a long time since the girl had seen her heart and she wondered to herself if it had changed. She took the top off, smiling sheepishly, and held the box out to the boy. He smiled softly as well and took her heart in his hand, holding it gently with experienced hands. He promised he would take care of her heart. He didn't.

He didn't care for her heart, but only her pretty face. He couldn't see what was under the mask of a pretty girl. The boy only saw the shiny hair and bright eyes; he didn't see her personality or what made the girl herself. He wanted her body, not her heart. Once he was finished with her pretty looks, he crushed her heart in his hand and threw it back at her as he walked away. Her heart had shattered like the hollow head of a porcelain doll.

It took the girl a long time to put it back together again. Over the time it took her to bandage and glue the bits and pieces, other boys had tried to win her attention. They told her she was beautiful and smart, everything a girl wants to hear; but it wasn't what she wanted. The girl wanted someone who saw her for her. Sadly there were no boys who saw that; aside from one boy, that is. He smiled at the girl and saw her true self under the pretty face. He loved her for her, not her body or appearance. The new boy tried to tell her he loved her, that he got butterflies in his stomach when he thought about her and that she was the most wonderful girl he had ever met. The girl's heart was still fragile and hurting. She didn't want to risk breaking it again. She was afraid.

The new boy was upset that she wouldn't give him her heart, but he understood her; his heart had stolen and then broken. While hers sat on the shelf tucked, away in its box, and she could see it whenever she pleased, his was in the hands of a monster. Years before, he had given his heart to another girl he loved. Not long after she had his heart, she had to leave, so she took it with her; not wanting to give it up and stealing it from him. Every day she was gone, he felt his heart slowly breaking, flaking off piece by piece. After some time the breaking stopped, because there was nothing left to break. It had crumbled to pieces in her hands.

The new boy smiled at the girl softly. He told her he understood. She muttered back a sorry and turned to leave; the bandages and glue on her heart pounding quickly in its box. It wanted to be with the boy, to be free and safe, but she was scared. She began to turn her back to him, wanting to cry, but he stopped her. The boy's hand clamped down on her wrist, tight and needy. She looked at him in fear and surprise. He just smiled; his eyes were lifeless and his smile hollow. He didn't have a heart anymore, it was broken and in the clutches of another girl. She saw it in his eyes.

Tears sprang to the girl's eyes as she tore her wrist away with a sick snapping noise. He made no attempts to stop her and simply watched as she ran away; rotten black lips curled back up into a smile. Tears were falling from her glassy blue eyes and rolling down her peeling green skin. Finding love was hard when you were a zombie, especially when hearts were so fragile.