Constructive criticism is appreciated, so please review. This is my first story on ffn (and the first thing other than poetry that I have written in awhile).

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            A breath, turned into a sob, which gradually faded into tears as the petrified body refused to respond to her desperate calls. The girl called out his name over and over. Her mind itself screamed that it was all her fault, he wasn't coming back, this wasn't some fairy tale where she could kiss him and he would wake up. The sword abandoned beside her matched the medieval scenery around them, but her clothes didn't. Her short thin hair hung in her grey green eyes which, before the tears had made them puffy, had perfectly matched her simple green t-shirt that was paired with dark blue jeans. When she had first come here she had abandoned her clothes from home for the traditional garb but that was all a blur now, the past was a blur, only one thought stood out. Darren, she thought, it was all about Darren, he started it, he made me happy, and now he's gone. Your fault, your fault, her mind screamed.

            "SHUT UP! SHUT UP!"  The reality of her voice seemed to have an effect on her and she picked up the sword and started slashing at the air as if it was the cause of her weakness, her problems, and everything she had done to ruin her life. The heat of the day, her exhaustion and the overwhelming flood of thoughts overcame her and she fainted. She lay as still as the body next to her. A breeze blew he stench of bodies over the hill, the fire mage and wind mage lay side by side, one in eternal sleep close to death, and one temporarily freed from her hopelessness of ever getting him back. They both dreamed, the one trapped by sleep desperately trying to show his friends how to wake him. The other dreamed of how she got there.

            Ravenna was sitting listening to the radio, just letting her thoughts go. Everything that happened when she was awake seemed to pound against her head every second of the day, driving her crazy. Her life was all about trying to live up to her own expectations of herself, and she never could. This was one of the rare times that she had managed to let it all go and just drift off. It was also one of the rare times that she felt empty, the only thing she truly felt she could feel was the blood pounding through her veins and the music floating through her ears. A stray thought crossed her mind. I've driven myself into a hole, there has to be something more; there HAS to be. The impossibility of the thought seemed to bring her back to reality; it had crossed her mind many times before, along with hopeless wishes and desperate dreams. The face that she showed the world was happy and stable, someone you could depend on. It showed fierce loyalty to her friends, and a drive to be the best. The loyalty seemed to be the only real part of it though; the rest was a cover for her insecurities and helpless addictions that she used to keep up her downward spiral.

            The internet beeped, and the automatic response told whoever it was that she wanted them to go away. Hunger overcame her turbulent thoughts as she shuffled downstairs in order to appease it. Home alone, she realized that she would not be bombarded with her parents' constant concern for how she was living her life. Home alone, it hit her and internally she celebrated. Now if only I could get out of here things would be perfect. Her train of thought was interrupted yet again by the TV, news advertising pain and death floated through the air, not too much of a change from the music. She then dismissed the wish for a better place as frivolous and impossible. Now well fed exhaustion from lack of sleep and an insane amount of homework crept into her. Sleep, nothing bad happens when I sleep, my parents cant find me, no one can go insane, nothing can go wrong, I wish I could sleep until my life was fixed, was her last thought before she began to dream.

Typical dream she thought, almost as if she was awake, in her dreams she was always strong, she never cried, and she felt no pain. Some of it carried over to her real life, like her insistence that she was immune to cold, and her ability to tolerate games like mercy and bloody knuckles. But this time she almost felt like if she woke up it would all carry over, but every other rational part of her knew it wouldn't and she settled deeper into the dream so she could savor it before she had to wake up.

When she started to wake up there was almost a realization that her surroundings were different, almost, but not enough to startle her, the only thing she could realize was that she was exhausted. She knew the feeling; it was exactly the way her body reacted after running four miles. Weak, my body is weak. She stumbled across to a mirror that's beauty escaped her. I look horrible, hah, vanity, yet another weakness. She looked down and saw a brush as elegant as the mirror. Well, as long as I'm looking like this there's always something I can do to make myself look presentable. The rhythm of stroking her hair again and again put her in a deeper trance. The shock that a normal person would have felt failed her, and her half-conscious mind would not allow her to realize the difference in her surroundings, subconsciously she knew, but she was acting as if she lived in this place. Make-up, I need foundation, I look dead. Normally she wouldn't have thought to cover up her faults with liquids and powders, but desperate times called for desperate measure. Her search was, amazingly enough, successful. Eventually her flaws were covered up and she had managed to show off her golden brown hair and expressive eyes. The exhaustion that she had felt earlier returned and sleep swept her under yet again.