She did not crack perfectly;
Never the less, she was like an egg
because when she shattered, her insides poured out in a silent heap.
They made no sound but were as vibrant as the Sun to those who were blessed with the gift of sight.
Only it was not a controlled demolition, there was no hand to snap her over a bowl; her destruction was a silent kind of violent.
Her shell broke into a million pieces and all the king’s horses and all the king’s men never even bothered to try putting her back together again.
And so while everyone else continued in their deceived senses, she was left in her imperfect and cracked mess, insideless.