'Ice Queen' by Emma Robertson

Diamond hard, I’m what you created; finely honed exterior breathtakingly ornamented with such intricate details, all visible flaws carved away. Smooth, luminous planes draw the eye tantalisingly to pleasing curves; only impeccable symmetry hints that my charms are not organic, a result of intelligent design rather than genetics or good fortune.

Inside my glacial brittleness is fragmented, almost to the point of self-destruction, but it’s what’s outside that counts. You taught me that.

To be your centrepiece, perfection is mandatory. I no longer remember if this is what I wanted or simply what I became. You handled me so carefully at first, a delicate – if unformed – figure, not yet beautiful but with so much potential. With an artist’s eye you saw what I could be, and so it was. I was.

Now they circle, the overplucked and undernourished clinging to the arms of the overconfident and underwhelming. Talking, talking – saying everything and nothing at once. You said I belonged in your world but the heat is too much. I feel myself melting away and worry about how little of me will be left if I stay.

One might imagine that such a glittering facade would provide me with armour but I feel my vulnerability keenly, especially in this malevolent hothouse of greed and envy where I’m neglected, left to wilt and waste away.

A teardrop of cool water splashes to the ground. I’m not strong enough to survive on my own for long; you saw to that. So much of me was chipped away that my weaknesses are exposed. My finer features are fading and you have grown tired of me.

As time wears on, I resign myself to my fate. Part of me is somewhat relieved. You don’t even notice when finally, silently, I deliquesce at your feet.