Charlotte sighed. The term paper refused to flow from her fingers. The waif muttered to herself, cursing under her breath, cursing psychology, cursing her family, cursing her own mind for not allowing herself to follow her true passion.

Before the story surrounding our dear Charlotte is to begin, she needs a proper introduction. Ever since she picked up a pen, Charlotte knew writing was something she could do. Growing up, the redhead always felt second best, except when it came to writing. She revelled in the fact that she could take anything, any assignment, and turn it into a work of pure artistry, almost without trying.

Throughout high school, Charlotte was not exceptionally at the top of her class; there was always that one Vietnamese girl or Russian boy who topped her hands down in subjects such as geometry and biology. But, as soon as she was able to get in front of a word processor or a notepad, all of those superiors became the wax on her burning candle, melting away with the moments…