She

All they were left with was a question: Why would she hurt someone the way she shamelessly did? Not even she could answer that. It would be narcissistic if she thought to have the power over people, however, the opportunity to attack was just sitting there, with the trust and love of those who dared go near her. She just seized the chance without so much as a second thought, but powers? She had none.

In return, all she had left afterwards was a bunch of sad songs, scattered words, memories, but no feelings, not one. To me it was ironic, given the fact that the more powerful she discovered feelings to be, the less she felt, the better she became at mimicking them but no matter how convincing, no performance resembled the real thing.

Like a junkie, she craved for others' feelings, each time demanding more intense ones, unable to satisfy the yearning. Hence the mined camp; to harvest those strong emotions her last resort was to hurt.

When one becomes addicted to something or someone, the lines between good and bad blur and fade conveniently.

Her attacks became relentless, once and again until the people around her had either become immune or pulled away.

In all that loneliness there were still two memories that gave her a glimpse of what feelings were made of. Those two persons were kept far from the reach of others. But once in a while she'd take a look at their old portraits that, like a black box recorder, could show her in detail how shit hit the fan.

The people who were there saw too how she willingly dived into her nightmare, but if you knew what made her leap, then you would stand alone in a crowd full of uninterested people.
To her perspective it was one of two reasons; the first one was that her heart was broken so bad her feelings were numbed, hence she was pushed into her current state. The second one is that she never had feelings to begin with and a drive for that kind of machiavellian curiosity.

Sugar-coat it all you will, one thing is clear; the people who got repeatedly run over and mauled by her would never describe the incidents as innocent. But who's to say if wether there was an inner yearning or a sadistic atonement. I never discard the possibility that she might just be on denial of having lost the personification of her ideal of love.