She had imagination that spilled over her arteries and veins, too vast for the span of her digestive system to hold in. Her head — filled with fictional characters and books — books of unwritten stories with unspoken dialogue. There were stories filled with dandelion fields and vast blue skies that ceased to exist in the real world. There were stories filled with princes and princesses and lights and stars and a lot, a lot of dancing — happily ever afters, that too did not exist in the real world. And some days — most really, she wondered if living in her head was what made it so hard to breathe in the real world.