She spends her life alone, wrapped up in a blanket and hidden from sight. She doesn't know the color of daylight, or her own eyes. She knows that carrots are shade of orange-grey, lights are yellow-brown, and blankets are always quite rough. However, she knows the proper name from none of these things. She's made up her own names for them. She is not dead, but it can hardly be said that she's alive.

You live a happy life, with friends, family, and enemies, draped in plush scarves and shoved in the public eye. You don't know your original hair color, or what you look like with out eyeliner. You know that everyone loves you (or at least wants to be you), love is disposable, and that all your friends are real. However, you know the truth about none of these things. You've made up your own lies for them. You're certainly not dead, but can you really say you're alive?

AN: Not sure about this. Extremely random and odd. Comparing a girl who is basically living locked in a basement to a rich girl.