She lives an enviable lifestyle, to say the least. Her bedroom has a sense of classic beauty and order; it’s the place she goes to take off the clothes that make her the people person. It’s where she goes when the curls come out and her perfect order becomes chaos. She often takes a cup of coffee into her room with her, a big, wide mug that she fills nearly to the brim. Black. She seems wise beyond her years; one is surprised to learn that she is only fifteen because of the precocious things that come out of her mouth. She appreciates her school’s textbooks and she spends her Saturday mornings lazily thumbing through the old pages.
She is polished; that is the only word to describe her. Her words come out articulately and deliberately and every move she makes in the presence of others is calculated. There’s a secretly scared side of her, though. An anonymous side that is afraid of irrelevance, like we all are. At night, when the lights are out and the wild comes alive, she stares around her tidy room and wonders if the bears are coming for her. She fears that it’s only a matter of time before they figure her out. She is a small little girl here, skinny and weak with tiny hands that can’t hold anything.