It was sad, how she lived. Well, honestly, she didn't really live at all. People had tried to reason with her, but with no success. She'd argue with them, tell them how it was all true. She lived in place where the walls were all white, and she hated white. She wanted color, she wanted lively colors to be splashed on the walls. So her mind painted the walls for her.

She was her own hero, giving her abusive father what for as he chased after her love. Trying to get her to forgive him. Without the paint though, it was just opposite. Without the paint, she tried to make him forgive her. For what? She never knew. But with the abuse, physical and mental, she had suffered, it had to be something pretty horrific, whatever it was. And that was a picture she didn't like to look at, so she painted over it.

Her mother, with the paint, she adored. Though her mother was always away, traveling and seeing the exotic places, a role model to the young girl. A face was never put with her mother, for, even with the paint, there was no face. Without the paint, the truth was that her mother had left her shortly after she was born, leaving her with her father. And the truth hurt. But she hated that picture, so she painted over it.

Her cat, with the paint, was what she had always wanted to be. Beautiful, magical, filled out. She was annoying, sure, but that was only due to the bit of envy she held within her. But, without the paint, her cat was just a cat. Not a friend who'd help her out, or who'd keep her entertained. But she never liked dull paintings, so she painted over it.

A boy, with the paint, was still a bit of an asshole, but she still loved him. Even with the paint, he'd never love her like she loved him, for that was too much for her to paint. He was odd sure, but he was powerful. And he was hers to wield in this picture. Following the picture of her being a hero, he was her weapon. A scythe, that she would turn into one of the most powerful weapons that could be used. But, without the paint, he ignored her. She had only seen him while they were in class together. He paid her no attention. That picture though was to boring, so she painted over it.

Yes, Maka Albarn was a painter. But she was no ordinary painter. She painted things in her mind that only she believed. When her stories of heroism and human weapons were spoken aloud was when her sanity was checked. And she failed the test. So, now, Maka sits in a room filled with white walls, blank canvases, all alone. So what else would she do other then paint? She lives in a world no one else can see, but she doesn't mind it too much. At least the other mental patients believe her.