People are peculiar things. So easy to control. Say a few words and you have them under your control. However, sometimes it gets tiring. They think because I can speak I have everything figured out. They come to me with their stories. Some are happy but most are just plain tragic. The same tragedy over and over and over and over. One had a fight with his mother, the other doesn't like their sister, another wants to run away from a lavish life that "ruined" him. They think I can fix them. That every string of memory they share with me is now completely in my control. The reality is, I can't fix them, so they come back, trying to cut away at me. It never works. And they always come back too, with the same old problems, and the same old wishes of being fixed.
One day, though, a peculiar girl came to me. She obviously had a tragedy, her eyes told it plain and simple. However...she didn't speak. Not with her mouth and certainly not with her eyes. Most of all though, she didn't feel. She lived in the shackles of monotony. Even without speaking her tragedies, she was one of the easiest puppets to control. Give her a task and she falls into place fittingly. She piqued my interests. Her eyes had that familiar dull, but something was different. Hidden deep under in the light brown eyes, there was a shimmering ember. Most people in her state would've offed themselves by now but she...she was special. For once I wanted to know her story. I wanted to dig deep into her mind, find what dulled her ember. She was my new found project. She would be my masterpiece.
