She is just fourteen years old. Yet her eyes seem more mature, somehow.
Short stature, a ribbon adorned her head. Her face is sometimes veiled by her side bangs.
She has a circle of friends. Friends that are determined to keep her from being hurt by another. Over-protectiveness. Fools.
She hasn't seen much of the world. Näive. Innocent. Timid. Silent. All these are contained within that frail-looking figure.
She never laughs. Smiles, yes, but only occasionally. Those peachy lips are frozen in a bitter way. A pity.
Her voice... Her talking is rare. And that is why she was called 'mute'. How inconsiderate.
She loves to tug at people's sleeves, literally. A way to make them know of her presence there, and also as a substitute of her voice.
She is close, yet so far. Although she is right next to you, there will be this overwhelming feeling that she is not your normal girl. You can't speak to her, because she is so frail-looking that you are afraid even your voice will hurt her.
And that is why.
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