prologue

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FOR as long as she could remember, y/n had preferred solitude

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FOR as long as she could remember, y/n had preferred solitude.

Always alone, but never truly lonely - the nineteen-year-old art student had spent the majority of her young life with only her buzzing thoughts serving her as company. Well aware that humans were social beings who thrived on conversation, she sometimes felt like she could call herself alien for never desiring it.

After all, y/n thrived in the safe confines of her home - a meagre little apartment on the top floor of a tall building, residing within a flourishing city. She felt most content when her nimble fingers were covered in layers upon layers of paint and charcoal inside her tiny makeshift studio. When her bottom lip was safely tucked underneath her teeth in pure, unrelenting focus as she painted, and painted, and painted.

There was no need for a single word to be uttered whilst the art flowed in the same speed the adrenaline coursing through her veins accomodated. She allowed her hands to do all the talking, rather than tiring her tongue.

It had always been that way. She was never much of a talker; was rather bad with words. Tried to depict her thoughts in pictures, instead.

Each stroke to come from her paintbrush filled her with exuberance, every swipe caressed her very soul. The creations to come to life, either traditionally on a canvas or digitally on a tablet; those were her true friends.

She didn't need anybody else. Only herself, her creations and paint.

Or so she thought.

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