Her color diminished second by second until all that was left was but an empty abyss.
A sense of such enormity that caused everyone around her to wonder what exactly was she made up of.
Was it secrets or portions of herself that she lay out on a table for everyone to read?
Had we been witnessing her story this entire time or was there more behind the surface that she intended us to decipher for our own well being?
Is she our dictator of soul or have we constructed her into the answers in which we as humans are constantly searching and never receiving.
For what are our determinants but our own minds in a world ravaged by constant input?