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She was darker than evil, tougher than a dictator. The silence broke as she stomped to her room. Everyone knew she was coming. Everyone wished she were dead. She was too arrogant to pay any heed.

She was sentenced to the boiling pits of oil, they claimed.

Her crudeness scarred them

She defined evil to those around; the tenor of her voice defied every natural law. She, on the other hand, heard the whispers about her. She didn’t care for popularity.

She didn’t believe in evil or even hell.

Her stature scared them

Their nightmares stared her as a villain. She had heard rumours about voodoo dolls too. She had been marked for death by their joint contempt. Yet, she lived on.

Could their be another side to their story, she once thought. But she didn’t bother explaining herself. She didn’t bother with a confrontation.

Her attitude, one of extremes, ostracised them and in turn herself

But like I already said, she was too arrogant to care. And they were too busy hating to get past the superficial.