She stands on the side of the road, and a car drives toward her, and she is innocent. Lots of cars drive this way. Lots of cars drive passed her. There have been lots of cars and no problems.
The car swerves at the last minute and runs her over, the driver yelling an insult that would make sailors blush as it does. She explodes into a million dancing lights that hover, but do not reassemble.
She can reassemble herself, but she doesn’t have the heart. A car ran her down, and it hurt. A lot.
If she respawns, she understands, the best she can hope for is a life where she is only seen when someone needs something to be angry at. She believed herself invisible. She believed herself safe. She was so tragicly wrong.
She will not reassemble, nor can she cease to exist. She is old. She is forever.
So she disperses. The dancing little lights find people who can receive them. These people spread the idea of her. She is no longer half-living, nor is she invisible. This time, she knows, she is less vulnerable. There’s safety in numbers after all.