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She has faded red hair, the colour of autumn leaves that have been crunched mercilessly underfoot one time too many. Her face is small and heart shaped, with a button nose and freckles like gentle dustings of cocoa powder on a cappuccino. Her mouth is pulled into a permanent pout, with worry and sadness lines creasing her youthful forehead.

But it’s her eyes that pull you in. They look like ordinary eyes at first glance, framed by ridiculously long smoky eyelashes. But her eyes themselves are riveting.

They are almond shaped, hinting at Chinese ancestry, and the steel grey of rain swollen clouds. They should be pretty. But their overwhelming sadness drains the laughter away. Even when she smiles, her eyes remain distant and sad.

She’s lying on her bed, fully clothed. She’s not tired, but broken. Broken by a world that is filled with horror and sadness. She’s seen too much. She’s seen people suffer and die. She’s seen people grieve for what they have lost. And she has grieved with them.

She’s lying there, broken. Shattered into pieces by the intense cruelty of humankind and what it is capable of. Thousands of people have died because of the cold-heartedness of their fellow man.

Broken. Broken like a doll that has been tossed into a corner by the spoilt child of humanity. Broken like a once favoured toy that has been cast aside upon the arrival of a new plaything.

She can feel it, the collective sadness of the inhabitants of this planet some call Earth. She can feel the struggles between each nation to prove their supremacy. She can feel the desperation of all to show the world that they can be someone. But there is nothing she can do to help them.

Then the earth turns, and the feeling that lasted only for a split second has vanished as abruptly as it started.

But her eyes are still sad.

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