There was a light snow fall in the city and a harsh cold wind swept through it, chilling the blood in the very bones of those unlucky enough to be caught in its midst. Eyes with equal layers of silver and dull gray stared out the window, soaking the gray cast sky up. Then full pink lips perched delicately upon the edge of the steaming mug, taking one slow sip of tea. Artesan was a young girl of merely nineteen, though with heavier makeup and tighter clothes, she could possibly pass for twenty two. A lengthy loose wool sweater hung from her petite, curvaceous form, curled against the window seat of a coffeehouse. A book lay near her bare feet, its spine deeply worn over years of her attempted reads. She tried to read the book more times than she could count, and never got over the fifth chapter; one speaking about the components which compose the human souls, according to Hebrew.

Her eyes turned towards the book as though it was a curious entity. The book was interesting, but perhaps her blatant disbelief in such things made her biased, and unable to be persuaded or convinced of their existence. The things she believed followed the course of logic; if she could not perceive it with her senses, it did not exist to her. Was it possible for her to hold a soul in her hands, and dissect each part of it? No. For a brief moment, she thought of leaving the book behind for someone else who may be interested, yet she wished to know the reasoning behind such wild claims. Religion, was not a strong enough basis, relying on personal experience and dogmas.

Small petite hands gripped the book before she slid it into a messenger bag, and then matching feet into the heeled boots she wore, the tea still very warm. Rising, it was time for her to leave for class at the university; she was more than ready to be active instead of idle as she had been of late. Nothing had caught her attention, and in result, her artwork suffered greatly. All scenes of horrific blood wars and human torment had ceased, and instead, there was only abstract concepts. But late at night the nightmares started and she could never remember the figures that tormented her, only the feelings of dread and self destruction. Thus, the nights passed very slowly, and within a few months, the bags under her eyes became so dark, she had to wear heavy foundation, and eyeshadow to distract from it.

Leaving, her breath was immediately stole from her lips, slightly swollen from heat and her teeth biting them. Artesan barely felt the cold, or heard any sound other than her nearly silent footfalls. Pressing her earphones into her ears, she was mildly relieved as Placebo's dark scintillating lyrics filled her mind.