There is a young girl sitting in the corner of a large bed.

Her room is luxuriously decorated; everything anyone could ever dream of - she has. Her father has money. He buys her everything she doesn't need. Her mother is gone, but she was loving. She is free of illness or injury. She is beautiful. Her friends love her.

She has everything.

Yet, she sits with knees to her chest, her arms wrapping around them as if it would protect her from the little harm there is. Her straight, short, cropped tresses curtain over her face; there are many strands unkept - they hide the expressions underneath. Her dark lashes are trickled with droplets, as if it was drizzling in her little world. Her eyes are dyed red, swollen; there are many scabs on her lips - her teeth are still trying to achieve something.

If you look closely, you can see the peculiar stains on her cheeks, dried many times over. She has her whole life to live, yet, there is no light in her eyes.

On the other side of a locked door, occasional sobs can be heard. Nobody passes by, so no one can hear. Only ghosts, perhaps, will see.

What's wrong with you?

...

What's wrong with you?

...

What's wrong with you?

...

Everything.