With their beauty now stained

I sit upon my throne an, angel, above angels, the truest, purest, most beautiful being in existence. The one existence that shall forever represent our stability and peace. Yet I'm not quite as pure as many of these people believe. Not as stable or peaceful. I know for a fact that they are all laughing.

Behind those calm smiles as they greet me they hold a smirk look at my situation. Behind those admiring words they mock me for the position they forced upon me. The one being that cared for me is in a coma thanks to the 'great one'. What am I expecting of life anymore. They are the one thing keeping me here.

During my few hours in which I can do as I please within this gilded cage I go to visit them. I reminisce the peaceful lovable time when we were younger.

When we were six royal knights of the holy one visited our town searching for the perfect playmate for his son. He wanted the most beautiful child who was 5-7 years of age. That was where my world went downhill. I was deemed the most worthy of his holinesses son but I refused to go anywhere without my sibling. My mother and father thought of it as a great way to earn the holinesses support, become nobles and live easily. They tried to convince me to go without my sibling but there were only two things I was certain of at that time. My sibling loves me and my parents don't care therefore what my sister says goes.

Once we finally met the holinesses son he was immediately smitten with me, at least that's what they all said on our 'wedding' day. Though it would be more accurate to call it a ceremony officially chaining me to this person. At first there were no problems. Most of the time I had no restrictions and the ones I did have would be reasonable. I made friends and hung out with others normally. But as we got older his holinesses son grew more and more jealous of my sibling. Until, when we turned 18, he snapped. He cursed my sibling after beating them half to death. This forced me to distance myself from any friends I once had, or they did it themselves. We got married the year after. Had I chosen not to marry him he would have killed my sibling, the last thing in this life I care for, there were no options if they(his holinesses son's doctors) could save them(my sibling).

I look upon my sibling their beautiful golden hair their pale skin that was once a warm tanned hue. We look very alike but they inherited my mothers looks more. Looking at the monitor I can tell their life's almost over. Even without that their fading breath and cooling skin also give it away. As their last bits of life fade away I cry silent tears.

I was already prepared to follow them into the afterlife. For them to survive ten years was amazing enough. Prior to increased monitoring of my situation I stashed a few things across this room that could kill me. To send the biggest message I prepared a note and decided to hang myself from the lighting fixtures. The fixtures were extremely strong and I was extremely light. When His greatness returns he won't return to me. He won't be able to torture me, abuse me, or..., finally, I am free.

(((((((((((((((((((((((((((((((((((((((((((((((((((((((((

A̵̢̭̪͇̮̰̤͌͂̒̇̒̌̚̚̚h̸͎̹͛́̌̄ ̶̡̛̜͈͕̦̳̼̩̙̓̓̓̄̈͛̌͒͑̑̋̉͘͝t̵̢̼͉̀̀̌̀͌̃͜h̸̨̨̡̛͈͕̲͈͇͚̹͊̀̆̽́͗̈́͋͜͜͜͝͠͝e̸̛͍̣͈͛̌̔̔̈́́̐̈́̇̕̕͠͝r̶̛̮̣͕̻̬̣̟̲̤̅̑̀͂͗̏͂̓͑̽́̒̏͝e̴̛͙̩̙͐̎̏̈́̽̊̎͘ ̴̧̲̙͕͖̙̩͔̗̻̾̔̾̉́̆̆͛̎̆͐̽y̸̢͎̙̬̤͕͉̝͊̉͗́̅̂̐̚̕͜͝ǫ̶̬̥͓̠̪̬̹̮̞̗͊̿͛̇̈́̄̒͛̕u̴̝̯͙͖̙̺̼͕̩̩̔́̀̐̆̏͐̈̌̍̕͝ ̵͖͉̻̘͔̜̹͎̹̓̏̔͂́̈́̅͆͂̂̂̏̓͆͘͜à̸̩͙͇̯̩̻̯̅̈̊̚r̴̩̭͉̹̮̗̀͂̈̋̐͆͆͒̀́̽̌͠e̸̙̬͉͓̗͐̾̍́̃̊̐͗͗̏̍́̚͝ ̶͔̘͈͇̰͈̙̪̻̭̯̭̰̘́͛̊͋̂͜İ̷̡̝̺̫̯̥̗͚̗͙͍̀̈́̔̚͜͝'̴̯̍̒̀̿͂͗͐̀͌̿̕͝m̶̧̡̤̩̫̭͕̲̲̠̣͕̪̻̅̔́̽̓͆̇̾ ̴̖͆̅̒s̴͇̦͍͆͛̌͑ẏ̶̛̻̇̈́̑͂̿͐̆̎͗ș̶̛͈͎͚̓͛̏t̷͚̗̪̮̤̫͓͂̏͜ē̶̢̧̨̢͍̰̝̩̲̼͗͛̊̂̅ḿ̵̦̺̣̞̜̟͉̦̭͇̣̾̀́̃̎̔̔̽̾͝ͅ ̶̠̱̤̯̭̠̩̀̇̑̀͐͛̇ͅ2̴̦̮̜̋͊̽́̋͊̒̀̓̑̾̏̾͘̕0̸̢̦͓͎̮̟̔̍͛4̴̢̛̲̂̈́̒̾̾̈̌̀͂6̴̧̰̀̓̐͐̿̒̎̎̇̈̓͛1̸̡̡̧͚̺̖̠̟̩͍̮͓̥̀́̆͗̽̾͊̊͌́͗̎͜͠3̸̡̨̜̞̞̰͓̳͙̋̽̆͐͐͛̊̎͊̀͠7̷̢̞͔̗̝̟͎̪͙̺̩͚͖̇̀̊͋̑͒̓͒̑̄̐̎ͅ(̴̹͌̽̉̌͜S̸̱̯͆͒͆̓̔̈́̉̌̑̄̆͘͠ͅc̵̛͓̣̯̗͊͑̋͜ͅä̵̡̢̮͕̻̪̙̬̣̮̳̭͇́̀̂́͑́͌̕̕̕r̸̡̜͇̻̯̒̒̌́̓͋̋̋͗̒l̴̹̰̭̪͇̮̪̬̞̳̓͐̑̒͛̿͊͝e̵̢̱̥̳̖̪̖͎̤͂̇̎̄͊̋t̶͉̪̮̳͇̖̤̰̣̎͌̇́̓͂̈́̌͘̚͘͠͝͝)̴̨͈̬̥̖̮̘͇̦̰̆̔̒̄̐̍ͅ.̵͈͔̯͙̤͙̉͆͊̇̅̓̐̉̈̐̿͘̚ ̷̨̛̞̜̲̭͎͖̝̋͐̔̒̏̐̐̈́̕̕͠W̶̨̖̭̮̙̹̰̰̺̖̦̣͔͐͋͌̐́͋͛̿͘ȇ̵̢̳͕̯̹̗̝̪͉̻̼̪̀̒̐̒͑̈́̍̂̈́͐̈̐̏͠l̸̡̗̙͍̼͕̬͚̳̳̞̱̞̒̏̈͂c̴̨̨͚̤̜̱͎̈̔̋̓̏͘͜ͅơ̴̢̖͍̦̫͈̰̲̞͓̖̤̥̍̉͝m̵̰̦̙̹̞̋̈́̚ḛ̵̥͕̤͍͎͈̻̓̃̑̚͝͠͝ ̵̧̖̪̱̱͛͐͆̇̓̌̏̉͌͗̄̿͠͝͝ḩ̶̻̻̼̻͕̻̺̼͇͈̪̝̹͔̄̄̋̒̐̃̈́̈́́̀́͝͝ǫ̴̛̥͙̭͇̬͇̬͇̩͕̥̏̍͌͑̌̈̋̅̒͜ͅs̶̝̥͖̹̪̄͋̏̆͋̇̽t̷͖͇̯͕̤̤͔͑̈͘͜ ̵͉͈̙̩̠̪̣̣͖̠̙̜̒͗͊͆̌̉̈́͝t̵̲͉̲͗̓ǫ̴̦̖̱̤͔͇̰̠̞̏̀̔ ̶͎͈̪̣̜̌̒̑̑̐̆̍̕t̷̢̪̻̫̠̝̘̱̭̫̥̞͓̳̺̉͋h̵̢̨̭̭̟̗͓͕͕͎́̈́ͅe̶̡̩̻͖̥̘͇̙̲̼̫̳̦̔̌̆͠ ̶̧̹͇͕̟͔͓̜̭̀͒̂̾̈̿̍f̸̧͈̫͕͉̺̭̲̬̥̑̏͂̋͛̾̀ͅͅi̵̡͎̯͑̓̌͂̈͛͗͆̄n̶̢̛̈́̒̇̽̉͒̇d̴̨̡̛̘̠̲̯͇̭͎̤̠͖̙̄̒͆̾̒̓̎̉̈́̀͒̀̌i̴̛̺̫̗̩̝̣̦̤̗͈͍͖̜̫̦̐̉͌̐̌̈́͌͌̅̀̚͝n̷͙̜̣̫͚̼̯̦̖͕̘̬͎̳̩͒̑g̶̃͗̑̍͐̈́̓̕͜ ̶̧̢̘͔̙͖̻̟̱̤̝̿͊̉ͅỷ̷̩̩͚̉̌̈́̈̓́̇͆̓͐͒ǫ̴̛̬͉̫̰̣̳̎̾̓͒͜u̴̢͚̩̻̪͍̞̫̺͙̿̊͗̓̈́̈͒̄͊͝ͅr̴̘͔̾͂̊͐̓͛̊̊ ̶̢̛̟͇̗̗̭͔͍͔̩̏̈̑̑̓̉̏̈́͒̈́̆̕͘͠ͅw̸͍͉͇̞͉͗͗̃͐̃̉̄͝ȯ̸̯̳́̉r̴̨̧̧͍̳͈̖̳̲̋̽̆̇͛͒̎͂̿̀̈́͘ͅl̶̨̧͕̯̞͔͓̞͓̞̤̩͔̐́̔̀̐͊̾͌̾͠d̸̩͇͎͍͇͙̜͖̪͓̲̖̠̻͝ ̵̢̝̲͖͍͔̲͉̪̗̆̉̒̋̐̚͜͝ş̸̧̨̖̰͓̭̭̲̠͇̼̪̖̮͝y̵̳̖͋̀̈̀́͛̄̎̈̚͝ş̴͙̗̪̳̱͒̽͐ṯ̷̢̞̯̫̬̝͖͂̅̄̈̌̊̈́̈é̵̢͈̮͎͚̭̺̗͓͇̤̌̽̈̀̈̅̑̄̊̄̏̓m̴̨̠̙̱̫̖̤͓̮̥̆͘͠ ̷̧̨̯̦̳͇̼͓͓̣̥̯͉̩͂̀͘͝͠ͅ