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Ai Xue-Hua

"Come back - even as a shadow, even as a dream."

0 · 542 views · located in New York City

a character in “Gifted”, as played by Layla

Description

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โ–€โ–€โ–€โ–€โ–€โ–€โ–€โ–€โ–€โ–€โ–€โ–€โ–€โ–€โ–€โ–€โ–€โ–€โ–€โ–€โ–€โ–€โ–€โ–€โ–€โ–€โ–€โ–€โ–€โ–€โ–€โ–€โ–€โ–€โ–€โ–€โ–€โ–€โ–€โ–€โ–€โ–€โ–€โ–€โ–€โ–€โ–€โ–€โ–€โ–€โ–€โ–€โ–€โ–€โ–€โ–€โ–€โ–€โ–€โ–€โ–€โ–€โ–€โ–€โ–€โ–€โ–€โ–€โ–€โ–€โ–€โ–€โ–€โ–€โ–€โ–€โ–€โ–€โ–€โ–€โ–€โ–€โ–€โ–€โ–€โ–€โ–€โ–€โ–€โ–€โ–€โ–€โ–€โ–€โ–€โ–€โ–€โ–€โ–€
โ–€โ–€โ–€โ–€โ–€โ–€โ–€โ–€โ–€โ–€โ–€โ–€โ–€โ–€โ–€โ–€โ–€โ–€โ–€โ–€โ–€โ–€โ–€โ–€โ–€โ–€โ–€โ–€โ–€โ–€โ–€โ–€โ–€โ–€โ–€โ–€โ–€โ–€โ–€โ–€โ–€โ–€โ–€โ–€โ–€โ–€โ–€โ–€โ–€โ–€โ–€โ–€โ–€โ–€โ–€โ–€โ–€โ–€โ–€โ–€โ–€โ–€โ–€โ–€โ–€โ–€โ–€โ–€โ–€โ–€โ–€โ–€โ–€โ–€โ–€โ–€โ–€โ–€โ–€โ–€โ–€โ–€โ–€โ–€โ–€โ–€โ–€โ–€โ–€โ–€โ–€โ–€โ–€โ–€โ–€โ–€โ–€โ–€โ–€


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    ยป ๏ผฎ๏ผก๏ผญ๏ผฅ
    ็ˆฑ้›ช่Šฑ; Ai Xue-Hua

    ยป ๏ผฎ๏ผฉ๏ผฃ๏ผซ๏ผฎ๏ผก๏ผญ๏ผฅ/๏ผณ
    Xue; Snow
    Ai; Love
    Bai Xue Gong Zhu; Snow White, Snow Maiden
    Xue Hua; Snowflower, Snowflake
    Xian Jian Zhe; The Seer
    Gui Nu; Ghost Girl

    ยป ๏ผก๏ผง๏ผฅ
    17

    ยป ๏ผค๏ผก๏ผด๏ผฅ ๏ผฏ๏ผฆ ๏ผข๏ผฉ๏ผฒ๏ผด๏ผจ
    January 1st, 1999

    ยป ๏ผฎ๏ผก๏ผด๏ผฉ๏ผฏ๏ผฎ๏ผก๏ผฌ๏ผฉ๏ผด๏ผน
    American

    ยป ๏ผฅ๏ผด๏ผจ๏ผฎ๏ผฉ๏ผฃ๏ผด๏ผน
    Chinese

    ยป ๏ผณ๏ผฅ๏ผธ๏ผต๏ผก๏ผฌ๏ผฉ๏ผด๏ผน
    Demi-heterosexual

    ยป ๏ผค๏ผฉ๏ผก๏ผฌ๏ผฏ๏ผง๏ผต๏ผฅ ๏ผฃ๏ผฏ๏ผฌ๏ผฏ๏ผต๏ผฒ
    Dialogue: #C5908E
    Thoughts: #9F000F


โ–€โ–€โ–€โ–€โ–€โ–€โ–€โ–€โ–€โ–€โ–€โ–€โ–€โ–€โ–€โ–€โ–€โ–€โ–€โ–€โ–€โ–€โ–€โ–€โ–€โ–€โ–€โ–€โ–€โ–€โ–€โ–€โ–€โ–€โ–€โ–€โ–€โ–€โ–€โ–€โ–€โ–€โ–€โ–€โ–€โ–€โ–€โ–€โ–€โ–€โ–€โ–€โ–€โ–€โ–€โ–€โ–€โ–€โ–€โ–€โ–€โ–€โ–€โ–€โ–€โ–€โ–€โ–€โ–€โ–€โ–€โ–€โ–€โ–€โ–€โ–€โ–€โ–€โ–€โ–€โ–€โ–€โ–€โ–€โ–€โ–€โ–€โ–€โ–€โ–€โ–€โ–€โ–€โ–€โ–€โ–€โ–€โ–€โ–€
โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”but every night is darkest before dawn; snowflakes on the water


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    ยป ๏ผก๏ผข๏ผฉ๏ผฌ๏ผฉ๏ผด๏ผฉ๏ผฅ๏ผณ
    XXXPsychometry; All people and objects retain the essence of the events and emotions that they experienced or were present in. Ai can perceive the echo of memories through physical contact, although the visions come quite uncontrollably. In them she becomes that which she feels, the separation between her and the subject or object obliterated. Where the emotion within a person or thing is particularly strong - such as in the instance of a murder weapon - she can sense it without ever touching it, most often smelling it instead. With objects she can feel the hands it has passed through - the maker, the owner, and those who might have used it in between.

    XXX" She felt his fingertips grazing her own before his memories flooded into her. She saw his past. The flash of a smile belonging to a beautiful woman as she leaned down to lift him from his cradle. Wind catching his body mid-stride. The whisper of a song he used to love. Funny, perhaps, that the only faces she would ever see were the ones in memories. Funny. That the price of her "Gift" was that she would not have eyes of her own.

    XXXHe pressed something into her hand. It was hard. Cold. "Please," he said, and she thought he needn't bother. The visions were will-o'-the-wisps dancing in all objects, all people, and they came when they wished and left when they tired. They heard no prayers, hers or his. Her thumb bit into the object. Nothing. Then all at once, a tide pushing her under and abandoning debris as it ebbed. Her head screeched, her throat burned, and she felt the blood spill from her nose. Wet and warm. Rust filled her mouth.

    XXXHe swore, his hands dancing over her. Don't touch me, she said thought. Her skin was bare and even the air hurt. But at least the visions slumbered now. She saw the past and present and the spirit world that existed simultaneous to the tangible. The sight, they called it, cast upon those who had returned from the underworld. One might presume seeing auras a helpful skill for the blind, if only for ease of navigation, but spirits coalesced in the crowd, becoming slick and mud. Except his, she thought. Except his. Objects exuded no energy except when they were infused with emotion, typically murderous emotion, and she avoided those like the plague. Thus she avoided museums. And graveyards. And libraries. The world. "

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    โ–€โ–€โ–€โ–€โ–€โ–€โ–€โ–€โ–€โ–€โ–€โ–€โ–€โ–€โ–€โ–€โ–€โ–€โ–€โ–€โ–€โ–€โ–€โ–€โ–€โ–€โ–€โ–€โ–€โ–€โ–€โ–€โ–€โ–€โ–€โ–€โ–€โ–€โ–€โ–€โ–€โ–€โ–€โ–€โ–€โ–€โ–€โ–€โ–€โ–€โ–€โ–€โ–€โ–€โ–€โ–€โ–€โ–€โ–€โ–€โ–€โ–€โ–€โ–€โ–€โ–€โ–€โ–€โ–€โ–€โ–€โ–€โ–€โ–€โ–€โ–€โ–€โ–€โ–€โ–€โ–€โ–€โ–€โ–€โ–€โ–€โ–€โ–€โ–€โ–€โ–€โ–€โ–€โ–€โ–€โ–€โ–€โ–€โ–€
    โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”i'm not here, this isn't happening


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    ยป ๏ผก๏ผฐ๏ผฐ๏ผฅ๏ผก๏ผฒ๏ผก๏ผฎ๏ผฃ๏ผฅ
      H E I G H T
      5'6"; 169cm
      E Y E S
      Hazel      W E I G H T
      99lbs; 45kg
      H A I R
      Black
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    XXXSkin white as snow, lips red as blood, and hair black as ebony. They called her the rose, the thorn, the wraith who haunted the night. Death and miracle. A spirit reawakened. She drew frost from her fingertips, cartilage encasing ivory bone the colour of her skin bending with a liquid grace. Shards of white paler even than her pearlescent skin marred her body, the scars an indelible reminder of the hatred people felt. Raven hair cascaded in a straight path down her body, cutting through clavicles carved of icicles and ribs cut of stone beneath translucent skin. It spilled over her waist, skimming past her hips. Skin and bone. Light and darkness. A painting of emaciation and fragile beauty.

    XXXHer lips were stained a ruby red, as if she'd drawn a body of its soul and painted her lips with their life force, or suckled the juices from a poisoned berry. The straight arch of her brows framed sightless eyes, their hazel lights glassy with disuse. She stared through the mortal world.

    ยป ๏ผณ๏ผด๏ผน๏ผฌ๏ผฅ
    ็ฉบ้‡Œๆต้œœไธ่ง‰้ฃž๏ผŒๆฑ€ไธŠ็™ฝๆฒ™็œ‹ไธ่งใ€‚
    Flowers under the light of the moon turn snow-white.

    XXXThe characters spilled over the knobs of her spine, etched in a singularity when rebellion triumphed grace. She had never seen them, but it had felt in that moment a victory.

    XXXShe was clothed in gauze and cotton, silks and smooth synthetics. They spilled around her in comfort, their colours fading between ruby red, soft azalea and ivory white. Any other hue seemed pointless where all colours felt the same in her hand. Dresses and skirts pooled around her, matching soft cardigans and simple blouses. Shoes were nowhere to be found. They were prisons for feet, as far as she was concerned.

    XXXA necklace slept in the hollow of her throat, the only remnant of her mother - a single rose quartz cut by a masterful hand into the shape of a rose.

โ–€โ–€โ–€โ–€โ–€โ–€โ–€โ–€โ–€โ–€โ–€โ–€โ–€โ–€โ–€โ–€โ–€โ–€โ–€โ–€โ–€โ–€โ–€โ–€โ–€โ–€โ–€โ–€โ–€โ–€โ–€โ–€โ–€โ–€โ–€โ–€โ–€โ–€โ–€โ–€โ–€โ–€โ–€โ–€โ–€โ–€โ–€โ–€โ–€โ–€โ–€โ–€โ–€โ–€โ–€โ–€โ–€โ–€โ–€โ–€โ–€โ–€โ–€โ–€โ–€โ–€โ–€โ–€โ–€โ–€โ–€โ–€โ–€โ–€โ–€โ–€โ–€โ–€โ–€โ–€โ–€โ–€โ–€โ–€โ–€โ–€โ–€โ–€โ–€โ–€โ–€โ–€โ–€โ–€โ–€โ–€โ–€โ–€โ–€
โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”the cloud and the little girl


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    ยป ๏ผฐ๏ผฅ๏ผฒ๏ผณ๏ผฏ๏ผฎ๏ผก๏ผฌ๏ผฉ๏ผด๏ผน
    XXXSnow; they say, it's all in your head. She says, so's everything. She is smoke pooling from a coffee cup, ice shivering over a pond. She is ash and air and water slipping through fingers. Her body possesses the same dimension as everybody else, but her mind is elsewhere. Soft and quiet: most days, Ai does not exist.

    XXXShe is a single syllable, a single entity too small to hold the earth within her. They say she must've been evil in her previous life, to have been reincarnated as death, or Atlas - carrying the weight of the world on his shoulders. She drifts through existence like a ghost possessing her own body and home. A stranger in her skin.

    XXXBlood; she sees no evil, hears no evil and speaks no evil. Having seen only poverty and pain, having felt it in her bones, Ai knows better than to be cruel. She feels no pleasure from the suffering of others but the prevalence of misery in the universe has solidified the lock on her door and made it impenetrable. She avoids others where she can and helps where she cannot, although every one of her attempts to be of aid has ended in their rage and her being in a straitjacket. She never learns.

    XXXEbony; the world is darkness, having long become inaccessible to her sightless eyes, but the other side breathes with colour. In the memories of others she exists, like a whisper of the past or a ghost looming over the living. Reality spills into the imaginary and she can no longer unravel the two.

    XXXIn her mind she has lived a thousand lives, and died many more. It is bliss and agony: bliss, when she might escape to some place safe, where the words insane, recluse, pitiful, abandoned, cursed, are reserved for no one, not even her. Agony, when the visions strike her like tides of rock and dirt, and it seems she might be buried alive. The darkness is in her eyes but also in her chest. A growing thing that begs to be complete. To sleep and never awaken, but is too afraid to die.
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โ–€โ–€โ–€โ–€โ–€โ–€โ–€โ–€โ–€โ–€โ–€โ–€โ–€โ–€โ–€โ–€โ–€โ–€โ–€โ–€โ–€โ–€โ–€โ–€โ–€โ–€โ–€โ–€โ–€โ–€โ–€โ–€โ–€โ–€โ–€โ–€โ–€โ–€โ–€โ–€โ–€โ–€โ–€โ–€โ–€โ–€โ–€โ–€โ–€โ–€โ–€โ–€โ–€โ–€โ–€โ–€โ–€โ–€โ–€โ–€โ–€โ–€โ–€โ–€โ–€โ–€โ–€โ–€โ–€โ–€โ–€โ–€โ–€โ–€โ–€โ–€โ–€โ–€โ–€โ–€โ–€โ–€โ–€โ–€โ–€โ–€โ–€โ–€โ–€โ–€โ–€โ–€โ–€โ–€โ–€โ–€โ–€โ–€โ–€
โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”i endure the flight of little wings of white-flamed butterflies in my brain


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โ•‘ยป L I K E S
Writing โœค Animals, especially birds โœค Kindness โœค New objects and spaces โœค Books in braille โœค Music โœค Sweets โœค Quiet โœค Wilderness โœค Nature โœค Flowers, her favourite are dandelions โœค Wind in her hair โœค Running, once โœค Singing โœค Mushrooms โœค Rain โœค Campfire โœค Stars โœค Deep water


ยป D I S L I K E S
Being unable to do simple things herself โœค Shoes โœค Antiques โœค Touchscreens โœค Crowds โœค Graveyards โœค Sites of massacres and tragedy โœค Historical sites โœค Sudden noises โœค Loud sounds โœค Unfamiliar spaces โœค Traffic

โ–€โ–€โ–€โ–€โ–€โ–€โ–€โ–€โ–€โ–€โ–€โ–€โ–€โ–€โ–€โ–€โ–€โ–€โ–€โ–€โ–€โ–€โ–€โ–€โ–€โ–€โ–€โ–€โ–€โ–€โ–€โ–€โ–€โ–€โ–€โ–€โ–€โ–€โ–€โ–€โ–€โ–€โ–€โ–€โ–€โ–€โ–€โ–€โ–€โ–€โ–€โ–€โ–€โ–€โ–€โ–€โ–€โ–€โ–€โ–€โ–€โ–€โ–€โ–€โ–€โ–€โ–€โ–€โ–€โ–€โ–€โ–€โ–€โ–€โ–€โ–€โ–€โ–€โ–€โ–€โ–€โ–€โ–€โ–€โ–€โ–€โ–€โ–€โ–€โ–€โ–€โ–€โ–€โ–€โ–€โ–€โ–€โ–€โ–€
โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”a thousand miles down to the sea bed, I found a place to rest my head


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โ•‘ยป ๏ผฑ๏ผต๏ผฉ๏ผฒ๏ผซ๏ผณ | ๏ผจ๏ผก๏ผข๏ผฉ๏ผด๏ผณ
XXXBlind; Officially diagnosed with Antonโ€“Babinski syndrome or visual anosognosia, the trauma Ai suffered to her occipital cortex resulted in a total loss of vision. Her manner of symptom gives her the appearance of sight, whereby her pupils respond to light and in the task of pointing out an object, she will almost aways get it right. The normal functioning of her eyes coupled with the lack of input to her visual cortex gives her an uncanny sense of where things and people are, although she could not explain how or why, or even that she does in fact recognise where they are.

XXXStrange; Although "creepy" might be a word better suited to describe Ai. At least in the opinion of most. She can be often be found murmuring to herself, though in reality she is likely responding to a person in a vision or trying to calm a nervous lamp shade. Her somewhat disjointed sense of past and present, vision and reality, renders her a being of two worlds. She has the logic of dreams, fluctuating from one unrelated event to the next without ever noticing the fear and confusion she elicits.

XXXLong hair; Many people have long hair, but few have hair quite as long and quite as disheveled. Spilling in dark rivulets down her back, her hair nearly reaches mid-thigh. She wears it around her like a curtain, allowing only occasional glimpses to her face, more often than not downturned or turned in completely irrelevant directions.

ยป ๏ผด๏ผก๏ผฌ๏ผฅ๏ผฎ๏ผด๏ผณ | ๏ผณ๏ผด๏ผฒ๏ผฅ๏ผฎ๏ผง๏ผด๏ผจ๏ผณ
XXXLiterature; In the days when she could see, words unravelled from the nib of her pen as simply as air poured from her lungs. She has a braille keyboard now, but even that is somewhat hard to navigate when you can't see the screen.

XXXMultilingual; Or rather, bilingual if one is to discount her ability to read braile. Ai speaks - and once read and wrote - Mandarin and English.

XXXSuperior hearing; With the dissolution of one sense came the bettering of others. Ai has a keen ear and will often be the first to notice any disruption to the everyday. She notices small changes in breath and faint quivers in voices that belay nervousness or weariness and can identify familiar voices quite well in a crowd.

XXXMusic; Ai has always had a lovely voice and a good sense of rhythm, but with nothing much else to do in the psychiatric hospital, she has since made use of the old piano in the common room and taught herself to play by ear. Although singing will always be her first love.

ยป ๏ผฆ๏ผฌ๏ผก๏ผท๏ผณ | ๏ผท๏ผฅ๏ผก๏ผซ๏ผฎ๏ผฅ๏ผณ๏ผณ๏ผฅ๏ผณ
XXXCertifiably insane; Her Gift and her interaction with it has been misdiagnosed as disorganized schizophrenia and avoidant personality disorder. In the absence of an actual condition for which she needed to be treated, the medication she is on leaves her confused, depressed and borderline catatonic. If anything, it made her more mad than she ever truly was.

XXXLittle to no control of Gift; The visions come when they wish and she is neither able to induce nor suppress them. Where she becomes the person or object she is sensing in her visions, it is as if she lives their lives and holds their memories within her, unable to distinguish her own self from the other. Her capacity to sense strong or overarching emotions also confuses her own sense of self or what she might be feeling.

XXXLack of coordination; Physically weak, seemingly without a centre of gravity and unfortunately blind, Ai's body is littered with cuts and bruises from stumbling into tables and slipping on damp floors. Climbing any more than two flights of stairs will likely kill her.

ยป ๏ผฆ๏ผฅ๏ผก๏ผฒ๏ผณ
XXXLoss of self; Despite her fear of the memories and sensations that permeate her mind overwhelming her sense of identity, a part of her wishes for it to. The visions are not always malevolent and can sometimes even be welcome and peaceful. Through them she may live a thousand lives. They are her only source of vision and Ai cannot pretend she does not miss the colours, art, dance, movies and the faces of those she loves. In her visions she is not Ai Xue-Hua, the mad and blind girl - she's a war hero, a doctor or a grandmother who loved all her children. She yearns for as much as she fears her desire to escape.

XXXNot being Gifted; They have told her repeatedly that the mad do not know they are mad, and she fears that perhaps she is not Gifted at all, only disillusioned and as ill as they say. The alternative is that she is Gifted, and it will drive her mad eventually.

โ–€โ–€โ–€โ–€โ–€โ–€โ–€โ–€โ–€โ–€โ–€โ–€โ–€โ–€โ–€โ–€โ–€โ–€โ–€โ–€โ–€โ–€โ–€โ–€โ–€โ–€โ–€โ–€โ–€โ–€โ–€โ–€โ–€โ–€โ–€โ–€โ–€โ–€โ–€โ–€โ–€โ–€โ–€โ–€โ–€โ–€โ–€โ–€โ–€โ–€โ–€โ–€โ–€โ–€โ–€โ–€โ–€โ–€โ–€โ–€โ–€โ–€โ–€โ–€โ–€โ–€โ–€โ–€โ–€โ–€โ–€โ–€โ–€โ–€โ–€โ–€โ–€โ–€โ–€โ–€โ–€โ–€โ–€โ–€โ–€โ–€โ–€โ–€โ–€โ–€โ–€โ–€โ–€โ–€โ–€โ–€โ–€โ–€โ–€
โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”There is a light to all this darkness, I will tell you this


Image
Image ยป ๏ผฆ๏ผก๏ผญ๏ผฉ๏ผฌ๏ผน
Unidentified Woman || ? || Mother || ? || Deceased
Francis Novรกk || 35 || Adopted Father || Mundane || Alive

ยป ๏ผจ๏ผฉ๏ผณ๏ผด๏ผฏ๏ผฒ๏ผน
XXX1999; It was near-dawn when the woman stumbled from the forest, collapsing at the foot of the hill where villagers from a nearby settlement had gathered to make offerings to their ancestors. Blood and mud seared the white of the woman's dress, her hair hanging limp across her shadowed gaze. The villagers had fallen to their knees, clasping their palms together in fervent prayer, thinking her the spirit of the dead. They startled when she collapsed and noticed for the first time the emaciated hand she held protectively over her swollen belly.

"Leave her," one of the men had said. "She's the vengeful ghost of a woman who lost her child."

The others had faltered, unsure if the moans emanating from the bent body were vicious or agonised. Eventually an elderly woman stepped forward, hearing the soft murmur of "please" slipping from the pregnant woman's chapped lips.

"If we're wrong and stand idly while she dies, our souls will be damned beyond salvation," she'd argued. Grandmother Lin put aside her cane, bending her creaking knees to grasp the pregnant woman's form. "Come on, don't just stand there. Help me," she'd barked. The others lingered until finally a few stepped forward. The pregnant woman cried out. She was in labour.

The woman did not survive the birthing, but her baby did. The small girl was paler than snow and her eyes were a strange hazel that was not often seen in this part of China. Grandmother Lin brought her to the village against the protests of many of the others. She named the newborn Xue-hua - snowflower, after the snow that fell in blankets on the day she was born - and gave her the last name, Ai. For love. Hoping she would be good, that she would know her mother had cried tears of joy when she'd seen her daughter and then later, that Xue-Hua would have the heart to forgive all the villagers would do to her.

XXX2012; Her first bleeding came on her 13th birthday. By then they called her Gui Nu - Ghost Girl. They thought she was cursed, having either hailed from demons or killed her mother. Perhaps both. The children threw rocks at her and the adults were no better, forcing her to do the menial work and beating her when she made a mistake. Grandmother Lin had died two years before and could not protect her. Yet despite their fear and hatred, no one could deny her strange beauty. Ai had pearlescent skin that contrasted with her lips - stained ruby red by whatever blood she had on her hands. Her hair was raven black, cascading in a smooth curtain down her back. And her eyes - mahogany lanced with amber-hued rivers.

The eldest son of an influential family demanded she be his. Kang Chu-Wan had been seeking a bride for some time, and saw in her a prize worth the risk. When another girl who had pined for him heard of the proposal, she approached Ai. Xiao-Jing gave no warning when she appeared behind Ai, an iron pot held over her head. She swung it down, striking Ai across the temple, whose vision bled black.

Ai's sight never returned. The doctors could find no cause - her eyes responded to light and appeared to function as any eyes should. A Church missionary saw her in the hospital and overheard the doctors saying her best hope was a surgeon in America who specialised in unusual cases such as hers. The priest adopted her as his own with the blessing of the villagers, and took her with him to America.

Ai never told anyone that the loss of one sense gained her another.

XXX2015; She should not have spoken. She'd learned, over the years, that it was better not to speak. But this time it was different. This time her voice twisted in her throat - becoming a cacophony of terror and agony - and it spilled from her before he could swallow it down. Even before their shoulders had brushed in the elevator, she'd felt him. The malice and violence that emanated from him was bitter with the sharp hint of iron, and the child tucked firmly against him trailed sorrow like salt. She retreated to the corner but his elbow grazed her still.

Ai smelled gunpowder. Heard screams. She saw the the owner of the voice bound to a chair, her hands gushing blood where her fingers had been severed at the knuckle. She felt her head turn to stare at the digits clasped in her own hand - his. She saw another body, its face unrecognisable. She felt her arms ache as she shovelled dirt into the makeshift grave. She saw a child. Barely 5, her neck sp-

She screamed and she screamed, clawing at the evil beside her. The man clamped his fists around her wrists. Ai kicked her legs at him, swinging her whole body forwards and back to dislodge herself, to escape, to be free, to wash her arms where he'd touched them, hands that had cut the fingers of a helpless woman and butchered a small child, her own hands- she would wash her hands. Over and over and over until her skin was gone and she could be made anew. "Murderer!" she'd screamed between the sobs that tore through her throat. "Help them!"

They locked her in a psychiatric hospital.

XXX2016; The blue pills were water, drowning her (they said it would wash her clean). The red pills were fire, making her stomach cramp and her limbs feel weak (they said it would scorch away insanity). The white pills were erasers, they scraped away every piece left of Ai.
XXX
XXX
XXX
โ–€โ–€โ–€โ–€โ–€โ–€โ–€โ–€โ–€โ–€โ–€โ–€โ–€โ–€โ–€โ–€โ–€โ–€โ–€โ–€โ–€โ–€โ–€โ–€โ–€โ–€โ–€โ–€โ–€โ–€โ–€โ–€โ–€โ–€โ–€โ–€โ–€โ–€โ–€โ–€โ–€โ–€โ–€โ–€โ–€โ–€โ–€โ–€โ–€โ–€โ–€โ–€โ–€โ–€โ–€โ–€โ–€โ–€โ–€โ–€โ–€โ–€โ–€โ–€โ–€โ–€โ–€โ–€โ–€โ–€โ–€โ–€โ–€โ–€โ–€โ–€โ–€โ–€โ–€โ–€โ–€โ–€โ–€โ–€โ–€โ–€โ–€โ–€โ–€โ–€โ–€โ–€โ–€โ–€โ–€โ–€โ–€โ–€โ–€
โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”autumn leaves have faded now, that smile I lost, well I've found somehow

So begins...

Ai Xue-Hua's Story

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