She had been like that all summer, staring through the broken window of the damp cottage, waiting for her father's return. She wouldn't drink or eat. She wouldn't move or look away from the window. She just sat there and watched, wishing her father would return soon. Passersby thought she was a statue, but seeing how the flies pitched at her made them think differently. Days turned into nights; nights turned into weeks, but still, it looked like she hadn't moved.

People started to think she was insane. She was a ghost. Or she was the crazy witch of a civil town. But no one paid her much mind. Nobody cared about her. Nobody even worried enough to alarm the police. Repeatedly, looker-ons hoped she wouldn't be there.

It was winter when she finally shifted after seeing something bewildering outside the dusty window. Her eyes sparkled as she rose from her seated position, dashing to the door with cobwebs accompanying her. She opened the door, swung it back so hard that it slammed on the wall and ran to meet who she thought was her father, walking down the path he took a couple of months ago. Suddenly, she stopped: her heart racing, her hands sweating. Her surroundings were muddled as she was stuporous and lethargic. She could no longer function. Her world became D.A.R.K.