Looking at the mass of people in pure disinterest, Versa found herself more distant than usual. People would come to say hi to her every now and then and compliment her work, but she'd reply with a tired 'hello' and a even less enthusiastic 'thank you'. The whole essence of her being felt stolen, which was ironic since it was splattered all over the walls.

"She would've been proud of you," her mother said with a small smile, wrapping her hand around her daughter's waist. Versa closed her tired eyes, leaning her head onto her mother's shoulder, breathing in her lavender perfume; the smell of it provided her comfort; her sister always used to wear that same one.

"I'd rather her not be proud of me and be here," Versa complained, and her mother let out a long sigh that signaled her agreement, even though she'd never say it out lout. "Wasn't I enough to make her stay?"

"Sometimes, nothing is enough when the soul is caged," her mother spoke, and she didn't always excel in advice. And they were not exactly on good terms, so mom giving her any real advice was down the toilet. But there was no other word to describe her sister before she left- caged.

The glorious room was well lit, a crystal chandelier hung from the high ceiling. The high, white walls were impeccable, her paintings gracefully exhibited all over them. Waiters were strutting around with a tray with champagne and wine glasses, everyone she knew had attended the art show. It was modern and the atmosphere was just like how she dreamed it would be. It was elegant, classy. But still, Versa didn't feel the excitement pumping through her veins; she couldn't enjoy her own art show.

"I just miss her," she mumbled. Glancing at the right corner where pictures she took with the camera were hung, the one in the middle showed her sister walking through the mist. No one could know it was her; but it was enough to make her feel like she actually still existed. She was just in the fog.

"I know honey," her mother said. "But that's all we can do. Miss her." Versa felt like crying. But she couldn't cry. She shed many tears, yes, but lately it felt like there was none left. She clutched her mother's hand before walking away. Her feet were hurting from the heels- she never even wore heels. Her mother had surprised her with such open displays of comfort; she would usually just tell her to act like her life didn't depend on her sister. But she could tell Versa had a tough time displaying her heart's art without the person that urged her to do it in the first place.

She stood in front of the luxurious art building she had always strived to walk in one day, now not enjoying her own art show, looking over the fast cars and high city lights and people passing by on the sidewalk, not minding the hopeless girl in a fancy red dress, her heart aching for the person that she had never even thought would leave without warning. The wind was just a small breeze tangling her hair and the cold was the only thing making her realize that she was, in fact, alive.

A hand on her shoulder made her flinch, and she looked into the eyes of her best friend. He sent her a small smile, putting a comforting hand around her shoulder. She closed her eyes and involuntarily shivered, leaning into him so that she wouldn't collapse.

"I hate her," Versa said, her voice breaking.

"No you don't," he said. She smiled bitterly.

"But I should."