“_There once was a girl drenched in black,_

_From her head to her toes all colour did lack,_

_She dawned a smile as wicked as a cats, _

_And …”_

“Who do we have here?”, the writer asked the reader.

“I wondered when you’d find _my_ story, amongst the 100 others”.

“It’s lonely where I am, and dark. There’s a sliver of light that run down my sight, I hear chattering and typing as minds delight”.

The writer finds your staring rude and would also like to know where you got your wardrobe from…

“It’s cozy in here, although there’s not much room for two, my _friend_ is upset he has to hide under the bed instead”.