Content Warning / Trigger Warning: Death, self-harm, suicide. DISCLAIMER: This is a work of fiction and characters/their arcs are not drawn from real life. *** “I wonder what it would be like for rouge to be made from powdered blood. Is that a thing? Powdered blood? If something like that did exist, I can finally use the ‘blood rushed to my face’ phrase earnestly. What do you think?” I turn to look at Aaliyah. We are lying next to each other on her bed, our legs leaning against the wall and our gaze fixed at the unmoving ceiling fan. She does not say anything, just continues to stare upwards, her mouth slightly agape. I frown, feeling a little disappointed at her lack of reaction. Wiggling my toes, I continue, “My feet are in desperate need of a pedicure. Wearing those cheap, knock-off stilettoes has almost bent them out of shape. Look at how damaged my nails look. I wish my manager didn’t force us lowly accountants to dress up. It’s not like they pay us enough to afford anything dece...