On Writing Characters of All Kinds

I love writing in a new character I've spent a week or two outlining. 

I love the feeling I get when I try to control them,

but it turns around and bites me in the ass.  

I love it when they develop as a character,

a fragile flower toughening beneath the wind,

only to collide with a hurricane and lose every last one of their petals.  

I love how, albeit being stripped of

their individuality,

their dignity,

their friends,

their freedom,

their basic human rights,

and their will to live,

they still rise from the ashes

and spit in the faces of their adversaries.  

The only thing I hate is how they die:

alone,

afraid,

and broken on the inside.