[right][color=silver]Veronica Silverstone[/color]
[color=silver]Location:[/color] On the beach.
[color=silver]Interactiobs:[/color] Hopefully, anyone.
[color=silver]Health:[/color] Unconscious, head injury, drowning.

[/right]

"Confidence," said the mother, braiding up the young girls hair in front of a mirror. "Confidence," she repeated, "is key to everything. You'd be surprised what people can get away with if they act like they belong. You, my little angel, must be confident on the stage." The little girl said nothing, listening patiently.

"You must act like you belong everywhere you go. Then, you will." The light brown hair's pattern grew more and more intricate as her delicate, agile fingers wove in an out of the strands, an artist at work. The room was softly lit, warm, glowing digitally lit oil lanterns mounted on the walls. The little girl was seated on a small, red-cushioned wooden stool, the mother leaned behind her, still looming over the little one.

[color=silver]"Is that lying?"[/color] The little girl asked quietly.

"No, my dear. It's not lying if you make it the truth." Her mother responded cooly. The little girl thought on this for a long, long, long while.

[color=silver]-[/color]

Veronica had washed upon shore, limp as a ragdoll. Face up, entire body drenched in water, her clothes torn asunder in various places, scrapes and cuts visible on the exposed skin. The largest cut, however, was on the back of her head, matting up her hair with blood. The wound looked bad, as it painted small flecks of crimson upon the beige sand beneath her head. Most likely non-fatal, but it was hard to tell.

Her eyes were closed, her lips parted, chest slowly rising and falling as she made an unpleasant, airy, sucking noise, oblivious to the world around her.

[color=silver]-[/color]

The little girl glanced down at the bird. It wasn't moving. The sun was setting, and the bird flew into the glass and fell down, and did not take back up again. 

"Hey, sweetheart," her father said, concerned, rushing over after seeing what had happened. "Don't worry about that."

[color=silver]"What's wrong with it?"[/color] Veronica said, her voice cracking.

"Nothing dear, nothing. It's okay." He directed her away from the sight. He hesitated, though. Maybe she was old enough, after all. 

"That bird...died. Sweetie." He said, sadly. She looked up at him with wet eyes.

"It's when someone..." he continued. "Or something, gets very, very hurt, or very, very old, it goes to sleep. Forever. Then, they go to heaven."

[color=silver]"Forever?"[/color] She asked. [color=silver]"That's really sad."[/color] Tears, at this point. He kneeled down. 

"Hey, no, it's okay. It's a part of life. It really is. Otherwise, you just live forever. Isn't that kind of boring?" He asked. The little girl thought on this for a long, long, long while.

[color=silver]-[/color]

Foam bubbled out the woman's parted lips, the airy noise growing more dire and rattling. Water, the giver of all life on the planet, overwhelming one of it's creations as it so loves to do. Playfully tickling the woman's bare feet, for it was all a game to the indomitable element. From a distance, it look like as if an attractive, shoddily dressed woman was bathing in the sun. If not for the pieces of scattered ruin luggage on the beach and in the water, and the horrid noise coming from her throat as one approached, the illusion would be complete. Veronica had always liked the beach.