Elizabeth was only 2 years old when she finally came home. She couldn't say a word, and she was very shy. She did not have any friends, so she played alone. In the dark, where she said was "her home." Elizabeth never learned to love anything. She couldn't. It was too hard for her brain to function the same way everyone else's did, and she was so much different then everyone in her family. Little did she know, she's been being lied to her whole life. Elizabeth never had a family. She loved in an orphanage, with few others, so she thought they were her real family. Once in a while, these strangers would come and take away one of the children. Elizabeth didn't like this. She'd follow their cars down the old diet road until she was exhausted and had to be carried back. She painted. She loved drawing. Everything she saw, ever, she would paint it. She painted cars, trains, people, buildings, roads, trees, anything she saw. But the thing is...There was a twist. They paint brush was a razor, and the canvas was her wrist.
