There once was a girl. She was an artist. The only difference is that instead of a canvas, she had a leg, instead of a paintbrush she had a razor. Every night when she got home out came the canvas and out came the brush. She would sit there for hours and hours make small, thick lines of dark red on her canvas. The paint pooled over her fingers as she drew. But one day when the girl brought out her canvas and brush and started to paint, she painted to deep. The paint flowed and flowed and there was no stopping it. She cried for hep but no one could hear. No one ever heard her cries. And then the girl stopped painting because she was no longer there. But the sister the girl left behind, she took up the girl's work and chanted to herself over and over just one more, just one more until finally she was just like her sister the dark red paint spilling over uncontrollably until there was nothing left but a memory.