Broken.

She had been destroyed, all of her. They had been peeling her, layer by layer, by filling her with sorrow, with pain, with guilt. Being it really her fault, or self-imposed guilt, hadn't mattered. 
She had now been reduced to her core. An insignificant, minuscule stone. All of her former self was gone.

She was now a piece of rock, but it wasn't a hard mineral. She had once have been made of diamond, but now it was all cracked, filled with tiny little lines that would soon shatter, and then there would be nothing left of her. 
And all the grief that had layered her was still there. It hadn't disappeared with each part of her, no - it had actually gotten worse and worse and worse, as she was perfectly conscious about what was going on. Now it was like a flame, a blue ball of pain that would try to finish her as soon as possible.