Simplicity was a valued trait in Emma's life. She had always loved how it beckoned her untamed soul. How it endowed her with the propinquity of both security and solace. Emma has had a good life. Her cheeks were always well-proportioned, full but not plump, and her skin was tainted just the right color. She always had food on the little living room table. There was modicum to complain about, so complain she shant. That was her childhood, you see? Wanting more endlessly, yet never voicing her notions. A casual version of hell. Despite always yearning for more, just one more, nothing had happened. So into adulthood she went. Comfortable with the often plainness life. Only years later had a tear began to form. But why did it shape? She had accounted for the factors. Loving parents and a steady-ish income where all in her bag. What was this emptiness. The void that reflected herself in her tears. The water was salty and bitter, not much unlike Emma at the time. She had understood. A death that would kiss this life would be no death at all, for she had not been alive, had not lived in the first place.