As Yin passes the library, she walks into the old classroom that the art teacher used to teach in before she died. The idea of being in the room of a deceased teacher made the young, fallen angel shiver a bit but it's not like she didn't see the death coming. She knew when everyone, including herself would die. It was both a gift and a curse. Yin walks up to a canvas and pulls a dark purple hair tie out of her pocket. She pulls her silver hair back into a ponytail that stops at the mid-section of her back and slides her backpack off of her slim shoulders. It thumps onto the ground softly as she pulls out some pain brushes and pain of all colors and shades. "What should I paint this time...." she mumbles in a melancholy tone as she dips her brush into some black paint and makes the first stroke on the blank canvas.