Her emptiness was painted on her face in tinges of gray and ice; her desolation made her expression slack; the skin hung from her bones in lonely desparation. China blue eyes, which normally shine like richly hued gemstones, retreated into the gray hollows of her eye sockets.

("I give myself to it, to everything I thought was good;
oh, oh how can I get away from it all now?")

Reading through her inscrutability became easy; the carefree, arrogant girl leaves the repressed smalltown for the big life, discovering herself to be just as lost as she was in the middle of nowhere.

She discovers that her small life was not transformed into something grand, but rather seemed all the more insignificant under the onslaught of such enormous experiences and people. She notices the difference; it is subtle: she is now not only alone, but lonely: lost in a sea of people which neither understand nor see.

The artificial changes; the fundamental stays the same.

I see her. She does not know it; being herself one who does not see. I do; it pains that I do, because I know that the fate of those who observe so clearly the fate of the world is to be those chained by to watch the horror of it coming into fruition.