*** I wrote two versions, both completely different. This is my true reasoning behind her 'funk', its not that something particular caused it....Well I'll leave you to read if you want the other one let me know I'll post it. ~Comments always welcomed!!!!~***

-This world is not for you-

She was an empty shell of a person. Her blood drained from her veins, her pulse beating its own sad rhythm. Inara could feel her soul draining away with every passing day. She was an object to be used over and over and over yet never discarded. Kept in a tightly sealed saran wrap tomb until the end of time. Only alive to appease the male appetite, and it was all the same. What had drawn her to this life? Her body wasn’t even hers. No matter how badly she wanted to take that broken glass shard and drag it over her pulse, to throw herself at the ground or walls, just to admire the purple her skin could turn, just to stake claim on something that should have belonged to her since birth, she couldn’t. No respectable client appreciated bruises, or scabs. It had taken her a while to realize that she was selling every part of herself, her opinions, her pride, not just her body or her company. Her livelihood filtered through the door in which her client entered and left. She was unsure as to what part hurt the most. Before or after the act, which hardened her senses to everything and everyone, when she had to turn on the sultry personality, the all-knowing love goddess. Love was not something Inara was willing to accept. She’d heard it all before, the gasps the huffing, the touching became nothing more than a touch. A fleeting moment that was getting harder to appreciate. There were no butterflies. How could she possibly be expected to appreciate love when she was forced to endorse its’ best qualities on a regular basis? It left her feeling empty, incomplete. Worse it left her feeling cheap and used up. She would never become more than what she was: a whore.

The fact that Mal refused and empowered the title stabbed at her