She always loved villains.
Their backstories ran deeper,
their motives burned stronger,
their sacrifices carved into something greater.
She loved tracing the outlines of who they were
before the world rewrote them.
And you—
you were once the hero in her story.
The one who made her laugh too loud,
who knew every hidden piece of her,
who stood beside her when the world turned cold.
When she was younger, she wondered who she would become.
So she fought to be the hero—
offering kindness, a gift wrapped in thorns,
bleeding so others could smile.
She loved you in the way she thought heroes should—
with open hands, with boundless trust,
with a heart she never thought would turn to dust.
Now, she wonders—
Is she the villain in your story?
Late at night, do you too rewind your past like an old film,
pausing at the moments when you stood side by side,
when the laughter still belonged to both of you,
when you swore you’d never drift apart?
She remembers.
She remembers the silent unraveling,
the space between words that grew too wide,
the way your paths split like fraying seams.
And when she let go, it didn’t break clean.
She wonders if she wrote herself into the role,
if she sharpened her edges too much to return.
Maybe you heard her name whispered through another’s lips,
a story rewritten in shades of someone she never meant to be.
You came back to offer an apology,
expecting soft forgiveness,
finding only the weight of unsaid words.
You had never seen her walls built so high.
Before, you watched as she turned her fire inward,
dimming herself for the sake of others.
Now, she wields it differently,
not to destroy, but to shield.
And yet—beneath the armor, beneath the distance,
She still misses the hero who once stood beside her.
She wonders if the story could ever be rewritten,
if villains and heroes could meet again,
not as enemies, but as something softer.
Tell her, when you look at her now,
Do you still see the girl you once knew?
Or has the story already ended?