Melissa, otherwise known as Misty, sits criss-cross applesauce in the center of a small twelve foot by twelve foot room lit only by an overhead bulb.  The room is bare of all furnishings and the only window is a double pane of one-way glass that does not allow her to see outside.  There is one doorway and the sound of dripping water from somewhere in the corner.  

Misty is an overweight girl, five feet and two inches tall, weighing, well, that part is irrelevant.  Needless to say, regardless of her diminutive, pudgy stature and nearly porcine nose, she has shoulder-length black hair, a pale complexion, dark brown eyes that are almost black - which are currently closed - and her face is set in an expression of complete and utter serenity.  

Her hands are resting palms up above her knees.  She appears to be breathing normally, almost as if she was asleep, though it is more likely that she is merely meditating.  A knock on the door from outside occurs, whether it is a rough knock or a soft one, it makes no difference or impression on the twenty-three year old within.