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Our Scullys

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We were looking for a hero, but we found Dana Scully.

She was innocent and awkward when she came to us. We changed all that.

We took her from the basement and brightened her hair until it burned like the setting sun. We made her skin like fine porcelain, like living milk glass, like silk. We gave her eyes so many shades of blue they had the color of a million seas.

We made her beautiful because we loved her.

We made her everything a woman could be. She was perfect. She had her faults. We put pieces of ourselves inside her carefully, slowly. She never knew.

We took her away from her routine, dressed her up and sent her to parties. She stood against the wall, not wanting to dance. We fixed her up on blind dates. She politely sipped her wine.

Sometimes she forgot herself and laughed out loud.

We put her in sweatpants and let her watch TV from the couch. We fed her our favorite ice cream, made her our favorite tea. We drew her bath.

She was our best friend. She was the other woman.

We made her a martyr, a Judas. We wrapped her crucifix around her neck and pulled until she saw angels. Hail Mary, full of grace, the Lord is with thee; blessed art thou among women...

She wouldn't cry. We fell her in love with her partner. We wrapped her around him until there were no more secrets, until she could finally admit she loved him.

We made her no promises. We wrote her harsh and brittle like a killing frost. We didn't want to believe she was capable of it, but she knew that she was.

We gave her the chance to leave. She didn't want our favors.

We made her breakable in the hopes that she would break. She stubbornly refused to crack. We were left with nothing but the frame of a woman, nothing but desperation stretched tight over the skin of her bones. We started over.

We made her a mother. We made her barren.

We gave her love like it was a fever or a broken leg. She grew tired of our advances.

We made her a victim. We sent nightmares after her. She fought them off. She let them suffocate her. We made her vulnerable. She called herself weak. We tried to rescue her. She refused us every time.

She said, "I'm fine."

We pulled at her to fill our spaces. Her small hands clutched at our every thought, and we tried to push her away, overwhelmed by her demands.

She smiled at us for thinking this would ever be easy.

We started to hate her. She was stubborn and proud and we couldn't change her. She wouldn't let us.

We cut ourselves open to bleed her out, but she wouldn't go. We should have known better. She has lived a thousand lives by our hands. She will never leave us.