Maybe she used to be nice, right? Everyone was once nice, atleast she was once nice, right? Despite her father's abuse, she was nice. Mazen was nice. She would read stories to the kids at the library, she would paint pictures of the people she cared for- who did she paint? She doesn't even remember. Who did she ever care for? Her mother? Yes- yes! Her mother. She cared for her mother.

Oh, her sweet, kind mother- no. Her manipulative, controlling mother. But oh, how Mazen cared for her. The only person she ever managed to paint. Before every painting Mazen made of her mother became made of sharp claws marks, anger, and blood. Now all Mazen can paint is the only things she likes. Lemons, snow, and whiskey.

The lemons are usually bit into harshly, squeezed dry with sharp rough teeth. The snow is always stained, stained with blood. The snow will forever show how stained the earth is, before it disappears to be forgotten. The whiskey is always painted empty, or half-empty, the whiskey is new looking - like it had just been bought, before soon after being drunken down to bury down pain, anger, betrayel, and much much more.