The coin

Like a Steppenwolf she couldn't handed any more the infighting of being spiritual and trying to get under her humanity, her room is her wastebasket, the perfect reflecting of she used to be, a clutter room protected by a large old wooden door, her way of live, her dresses, her speech. Apparently in the society she was a perfect common woman, but in her deepest body were growing a very dangerous animal. Her pretty face, not hot, more sweet. Who could imagine that she can kill someone with that shine, happy, soft face? Her flowered house was envidiable, her job wasn't so stressful, so hard. Her family portrait, everything so calm, so quite, so boring.