She was pretty. “Too pretty for her own good” people would regularly say, until eventually she exiled herself, locked herself away in that big empty house, and nobody heard from her for so long that she was almost completely forgotten about. The talent which seemed to emulate from her was evident in her work; dresses on stands, canvases in the window, gardens full of flowers regardless of the season, and those who dared to venture a glance would gravely mutter those words, that selfish little phrase which broke her heart and dulled her eyes.

Maybe it was the boredom which broke her out, unfroze her features and made her young again, but the day she was seen marching down the path from that big old house people began to remember why they had shunned her in the first place. She had a light inside of her, and once it decided to show itself she couldn’t keep it from shining through her skin. It made people jealous, nervous even, but nothing would stop her this time. No, I think that once she decided that her way was the only way it stopped her from hiding away again. Every instinct screamed at her to run back to what was familiar, but as she started to turn her bag slipped and the weight shifted her back again. She looked forward, held her head up, pointed little chin defiant and strong, and let the wind touch her hair and gather her dress in to the air. ‘Destined for greatness’ doesn’t really apply when greatness comes to you of its own accord, does it? She became a muse to many, standing against the onslaught, the little girl holding her finger in the hole in the dam.

There was a timeless elegance about her, the kind that allowed her to dance in the street without judgement, and to silence a room with her delicate laugh. Nothing phased her, and she took the time to choose her words before speaking because, she said, why say anything at all if the words were spoken carelessly? She was occasionally seen as being blunt, even rude, because she would become distracted by her own thoughts so quickly that in the middle of conversations her eyes would simply go blank, and nothing would register with her until she felt ready to shift back in to the real world again. It was sad, that her dreams somehow alienated her, and because of this she had a constant motion of acquaintances, sliding past her, almost through her.

Time stood still for her, and in the end that was all she wanted.