Outcast

Artwork story

"A lone figure in the city's vibrant streets, her eyes holding bottomless pain. Tragedies etched her soul, love turned to hate, and family turned their backs. She wore misery like a faded dress, a thorn disguised as a rose around her neck. At night, she'd seek solace in shadows, her soul singing laments for what's lost. A mother, yet an outcast, trapped in a cycle of suffering, her heart heavy with pain."

She walked alone, a shadow in the city's vibrant streets. Her eyes, like two dark pools, held a depth of pain that seemed bottomless. The world around her was alive with laughter and chatter, but she was a specter, invisible and untouched.

Her life had been a series of tragedies, each one etching itself into her soul like a cruel engraving. She had tried to help others, to reach out to the homeless and orphans, but her own wounds ran too deep. The love she had once known had curdled into hate, and even her own family had turned their backs on her.

She wore a dress that seemed to reek of misery, its faded flowers a stark contrast to the vibrant colors of the city. A scarf, adorned with a thorn disguised as a rose, wrapped tightly around her neck, a constant reminder of the pain she carried.

At night, she would creep into the darkness, seeking solace in the shadows. Her soul would sing forgotten melodies, a lament for all she had lost. Her eyes, those deep, dark pools, seemed to hold a thousand untold stories, each one a testament to the horrors she had endured.

And yet, despite it all, she was a mother, a woman who had given life and love, only to have it torn from her. She felt like a shallow grave, filled with tears and sorrow, her heart heavy with the weight of her pain.

As she looked out from her corner, watching the world go by, she felt abandoned, isolated, and alone. Pain was her second home, a place she knew all