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[Narrator]

She stole back to her room after dinner. It was usually free time then, but she had another few hours of 'study' to finish. The simple matress pushed aside to reveal a large tome, thick with parchment, and yellowed with age, the covers blackened, leatherworn, clasped with what seemed to be ever-rusted hinges.

Her paw fliped the book open easily, dispite its size. The lettering was in a inky black scrawl, disturbing images dotted the forms of each glyph, letters becoming darkly violent images borne from the mind of insanity. But she smiled as she turned each page, the words meaningful to her, speaking directly to her tormented soul.

She'd taken to coloring her headfur black. Some thought it was just a fad, a phase. They were wrong though. She hadn't colored it.

It was a reflection of what she'd become.