Monsters Make The Best Masks-Villain Song [Commission]

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There comes a moment when the line between victim and villain blurs—not from malice, but from survival. This tale follows a soul who never fit the mold of what others expected, one too strange, too sharp around the edges, too loud in her silence. She was shaped by eyes that didn’t understand her, by hands that punished what they couldn’t mold, and by love that arrived only in twisted, conditional forms. What blooms in soil soaked with misunderstanding and grief isn’t a monster—it’s a mirror no one dares look into.

As the world watched and judged, the true horror was never the outbursts or oddities—but the quiet endurance. The years spent carrying pain too large for her body, stitched into her skin like embroidery made of ghosts. In that silence, something crept in—an offer, a whisper, a promise. It didn’t need to shout. It only had to fill the absence left by every “you’re too much,” and every door that slammed shut on soft intentions. When no one reaches out, even a cursed hand starts to feel like salvation.

Still, not every pact is signed with hunger. Sometimes, it’s signed with desperation. And even when the heart hardens, the cracks remain—small pockets where warmth might still take root. She did terrible things, yes. But even in her most violent moments, there was a question behind her eyes: What would I have been, if someone had stayed? The transformation was never into evil. It was into someone who would never again be defenseless. Into something that couldn't be hurt the same way twice.

Yet buried beneath the ruin and rage lies a glimmer of unfinished hope, a whisper that maybe the damage doesn’t erase the original shape. That perhaps masks are not worn to deceive, but to protect what’s left of the child underneath. And in the end, the one we fear most may be the one trying hardest not to break what little remains of themselves.