She sat alone. Her hair short black with pink streaks, the few pink streaks signified what hope she has left.
The war darkened her soul, and the loss she endured has killed her once bubbly outlook, darkened by death.
The only thing keeping her hopes up has been her love of a certain older werewolf. Without him she would die. Every time he went to battle without her she worried like crazy.
A creak at the door brought her out of her thoughts. The younger girl's eyes were red from tears.
"I'm so sorry," the room went black around her.