A lady was down on her luck. She had hollow eyes and a mangled back. She had made the error of chasing a man who didn't care about her. Crimson taints adorned the back of her white gown. Two tumor-like growths adorned her right shoulder. Inside were clones of the man she mistakenly loved. She would reach out and touch it from time to time.
The tumor-like growths on her shoulder were grotesque manifestations of her obsession. Within those disfigured masses were the clones of the man she had foolishly pursued, each one a twisted replica of the person she had once held dear. Her fragile fingertips would often trace the lumps, as if seeking solace or a connection that could never be.
