She ran into the old room, and I knew she would know how empty it would be. I could nearly sneeze as particles of dust danced in the sunlight around the books as she pushed open the doors. A glance from the librarian and she kept her composure until she reached the back corner of the library, hidden by large bookshelves. I hesitantly followed, peeking from the side. Her face was almost unrecognizable. I knew the dark shadows beneath her eyes were from the nights she couldn’t sleep, the scars on her wrists were from the times she was on the brink of death, and the tears strolling down her face was her giving up. She can’t…