There is a girl sitting at the edge of a bed. Her dark brown hair a fuzzy mess, her clothes old and worn out- a makeshift form of pajamas.
She stares out a window in front of her. The blinds creating ray bands over her face. The yellow strip illuminating her dark eyes into a honey gold.
Her body was slumped, shoulders falling forward as if tired of holding something up. Her eyes shine but her face falls flat.
There is a dark pit in the middle of the honey, slowly growing, consuming the light. If you look into that dark pit you would see another girl.
There is a girl curled up in a corner, stifling tears. No light reaches this girl. Her hair is matted, the room is grey and cold. Her clothes out dated.
In that room, there is a girl lost and neglected.
In this room, there is a girl tired of fighting.
Ink Drinker 