I used to be beautiful once.
There was a time when I was loved. I was cherished, prized and valued. You wouldn't think so looking at me now. I sit here, horrible, ugly, disfigured, unwanted, unloved. But back then, I was something.
Not that long ago, I was a thing to behold. I sat in my place, respected and revered, while many gazed upon my beautiful visage. They would travel from far away lands to be enraptured at my striking beauty. Modesty was no option for me. I swelled with pride at the smallest glance, the tiniest slice of attention. As I sat in my place of honour, I felt like all was right in the world and that nothing could ever tear it from me.
But it was. That night, I was lucky to survive. Swirling amber licked and caressed my brethren, turning them to dust. Their bodies twisted and curled in the merciless heat. Light and shadows danced through the halls. Ashes swirled in the midsummer breeze. Before anyone knew what had taken place, it was over. I no longer sat in my place of honour, but had fallen, and lay in pain and confusion.
I could not be repaired, as my father had long since passed into the next world, a fate I now envy. The loss of my beauty was too much for them, and they could not bear the sight of me anymore. So I am cast elsewhere, a small piece of history, something that once was beautiful, a reminder of a lesson learned.
I used to be beautiful, once.