Violet sat on the edge of her bed, thinking. That’s all she did nowadays: think. Think about what life would’ve been like if she hadn’t died. Or if she’d never cut herself. Or if she’d never met Tate. Things would’ve probably been a lot better. Her door creaked open slowly, and she saw a pair of eyes staring at her from behind them. She blinked slowly, not sure how to approach this person. Was it a ghost or a human? You could never be to sure. “You can come in, I don’t bite,” Violet said blandly after a minute of uncomfortable silence. “Why are you here?” She asked, hoping she’d get some answers.