Her mind drifts off into the distance as she glides down the ghostly hallway. It’s costume day at her school and everyone has dressed up but her. She looks down at her plainly cut teal shirt and faded dark blue jeans. Nothing special, nothing unique, nothing beautiful, nothing creative. Her golden blond hair reaches down her back, pulling at her shoulder blades and brushing across her shoulders. The dull gray headband nudges the hair out of her face, making her blue eyes stand out. The thick eyeliner coating the tops of her eyelids and the perfectly combed mascara reaching the ends of her eyelashes distract from her long nose. She fiddles with the bracelets covering her arms, pulling them up and down, playing with the strings, and tightening and adjusting them. A whiff of vanilla and raspberry floats up to her nostrils and she drags it in, enjoying the sweet, flowery smell. The faded writing running down her arms and hands say meaningless things only she can understand. Her fingernails are bitten down to the skin, hangnails surrounding the edges of the nail. They are hands of an artist, of a creative mind, of a whimsical spirit. Her perfectly plucked left eyebrow raises when she sees someone dressed as Tigger. She wonders where they got the costume. They call her creative, they call her special, they call her beautiful, they call her unique. But to her, none of these apply, they merely apply to the persona she reveals to people. It is as if, the person she is to others is simply a costume, hiding who she really is under a veil of beautiful and creative skin. Underneath this skin, there is a person you’ve never seen before.