Be still my foolish heart
Oh, no doubt she looked every bit as awful as she felt. Never a beauty, with the pudgy overfed look of someone who ate too much and moved too little and spent as little time in the sun as possible. Pasty, was one word for it. Now jerked from her comfortable lair, crammed into ill fitting hand me down clothes, with dull blonde hair a complete mess hanging every which way about the face... and she didn't even feel so numb that it had ceased to bother her. The woman with the easel packed up her things. Good. No spontaneous masterpieces of her Despair today. But the positive things ended there, because as the woman passed by, she offered up sympathy. At least it better be, pity would be humiliating, when offered from a pretty slip of a girl like this.
"Hm? Oh yeah, I'm fine!" The lie was automatic, as was the way she perked up and smiled, and straightened her seat on the bench. A lovely example of the practiced 'All's well, nothing to see here' parody.
Don't ruin this on me
PETRA
