• A bed. (Large, but not quite big enough for two.)

    A dresser. (Cluttered with items such as pencils, paintbrushes, inks...)

    No lights on, just a small window open, a light breeze coming in.

    And amidst this small, cluttered mess sits a girl. Alone, undisturbed, drawing in a sketchbook on the floor.

    But the girl doesn't mind. No one is here to bother her here, in the haven that is also called her "studio."

    So the girl sits quietly, thinking, occaisionally looking out the window to determine what time of day it is. Her eyes scan over the many pictures taped to the wall, very few of which are framed. A sigh escapes her lips as she slowly turns back to her unfinished work, the paper in front of her littered with markings.

    She grabs another pencil and begins to erase at one that bothers her, one here, one there, another that seems out of place.

    Her small hands are almost black from the pencil lead, but the girl doesn't mind. She simply wipes them on her pants and goes back to work, back to creating her art.

    Because the art is all she has.

    The girl has never been smart, never been pretty, never been "popular."

    The only thing she can do right is draw.

    So the girl does what she does best, silently sketching alone in her room.

    Sometimes, oftentimes, however, her thoughts wonder off to what her life could be like if she WAS pretty, if she WAS popular.

    But thoughts like those only send her deeper into despair, and so she draws. Draws beautiful images of people, of animals, of a life she's never had.

    And the girl knows these pictures are beautiful, yet she prefers to keep them to herself. Safely locked away in her bedroom, her studio...

    Because the art is all she'll ever have.