Prologue:
Why do people sing?
I used to think it was simple because music makes you happy.
Because you can share something beautiful with the world.
For me, singing was everything. My escape. My passion. The one thing that stayed with me even when everything else, friends, family, dreams, faded away.
But the day I changed, the day they offered it to me, a power in my heart, I knew it wasn't the right thing to do, but still.
I took it.
Then something inside me shattered and rebuilt into something inhuman… My voice, my music, stopped being mine.
It started as whispers. People are avoiding me like I carry a disease. My only friends are telling me to stay away. My parents looked at me like a stranger.
Then came the marks.
My hair used to be crimson, like autumn leaves. Now, the edges are stained green; no dye, no scissors can cut it away. It's a reminder of whatever I've become.
No one told me why. No one could explain what I was.
