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September 26, 2011
I knew a woman with bright pink hair and a dull, dim soul. It hadn't always been that way. Her hair she dyed, of course, and her soul had been tarnished and torn by the vicious nature of an unloving world. Perhaps that's why she didn't mind giving it away when the man who called himself Master stepped into her mind and offered love in exchange. She gave it to him piece by piece and seemed relieved of the burden of it.

I couldn't understand her choice. No man will ever claim my soul, I am sure. It is mine.