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6/28/2025, 8:31:21 AM
>In a dimly lit room, Giselle Gewelle’s heart shattered like fragile glass. The Quincy, known for his playful yet dark demeanor, had mustered the courage to confess his love to Vegeta, the proud Saiyan warrior from Dragon Ball. His voice trembled as he poured out his feelings, eyes shimmering with hope. But Vegeta, standing tall with his arms crossed, didn’t hesitate. “I’m married to Bulma,” he said sharply, his tone cold as steel. “I love her. I don’t need… whatever you’re offering.” His words cut deep, dismissing Giselle’s affection with a scoff.
>Giselle’s smile faltered, his usual confidence crumbling. He had always masked his
>pain with a twisted grin, but this rejection stung like nothing before. “Fake… transgender… female,” Vegeta’s words echoed in his mind, each syllable a dagger. He stumbled back to his quarters, the weight of his rejection crushing his . Alone, he sat on the cold floor, his Quincy robes stained with tears. His trembling hand reached for a small blade, its edge glinting faintly.
>With a shaky breath, Giselle pressed the blade to his wrist. The first cut was shallow, a hesitant line of red. Pain bloomed, but it was nothing compared to the ache in his chest. He whispered to himself, “If I’m not enough for him… what am I?” Another cut, deeper now, as his vision blurred with tears. Blood dripped onto the floor, pooling like his unspoken dreams. He didn’t want to die—not really—but the hurt was too much, and this was the only way he knew to scream silently.
>In that moment, Giselle’s mind flickered to his own strength, his ability to manipulate life and death as a Quincy. But none of it mattered. Not his powers, not his charm, not his desperate love. Vegeta’s rejection had stripped his bare, leaving only raw, bleeding vulnerability.
>The blade fell from his hand, clattering against the stone. Giselle curled into himself, sobbing quietly, the wounds on his wrist a stark reminder of a love that would never be his.
>Giselle’s smile faltered, his usual confidence crumbling. He had always masked his
>pain with a twisted grin, but this rejection stung like nothing before. “Fake… transgender… female,” Vegeta’s words echoed in his mind, each syllable a dagger. He stumbled back to his quarters, the weight of his rejection crushing his . Alone, he sat on the cold floor, his Quincy robes stained with tears. His trembling hand reached for a small blade, its edge glinting faintly.
>With a shaky breath, Giselle pressed the blade to his wrist. The first cut was shallow, a hesitant line of red. Pain bloomed, but it was nothing compared to the ache in his chest. He whispered to himself, “If I’m not enough for him… what am I?” Another cut, deeper now, as his vision blurred with tears. Blood dripped onto the floor, pooling like his unspoken dreams. He didn’t want to die—not really—but the hurt was too much, and this was the only way he knew to scream silently.
>In that moment, Giselle’s mind flickered to his own strength, his ability to manipulate life and death as a Quincy. But none of it mattered. Not his powers, not his charm, not his desperate love. Vegeta’s rejection had stripped his bare, leaving only raw, bleeding vulnerability.
>The blade fell from his hand, clattering against the stone. Giselle curled into himself, sobbing quietly, the wounds on his wrist a stark reminder of a love that would never be his.
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