The raven hair or hair as golden as the sun. The blue eyed-beauty or the eyes as green as an emerald on display. The porcelain skin with the elven features or the ebony warrior, strong and sturdy as the mountainside. The slender willow figure or the voluptuously curved hips. One or the other. The rarities. Those set apart from others are sought for the spotlight.

For desire.

For what they can give.

Those of rare beauty or elegance, of intriguing difference and foreign, exotic allure are wanted. Wanted and chased and exploited and fought over until they are torn apart by all those that wanted them. Or until they tear themselves apart from the inside out.

But people, mankind, humanity… It cannot want what it cannot see.

So they’ll never see me. Not the part of me that would call upon wanton and certain destruction.

My heart is not for this world. This world is undeserving of my deepest and most desperately constructed center.

Open my chest. Pull back the skin and muscle and bone and beneath it all is found a heart. A heart unlike any other.

Glowing, radiant, silvery light emanates from it always. And the seams shine of the deepest, most vibrant ruby. Beating and living like any other heart of any other living being. But metal. Forged of the most intricate and delicate parts. Beating and living like any other heart. But strong. Able to withstand the force of a tidal wave. Beating and living. But cold. An icebox in my chest. A frostheart at my core.

They would want it. Not for their own use. Not for a purpose. But simply because… it is rare.

Rare things are wanted.

But the world cannot want what it cannot see.

So it shall never see my heart.

Not even as it begs mercy of my hand.