A spider crawls quickly up and around Auntie's chair, skitters back down, and races across numerous piles of half-drawn pages, sketches, clothes, and other living refuse. A person named Kyrin with a gigantic black computer types busily, to distract themself from their own mind, which is telling them that they need to stop writing about themself in the third person and write an actual poem for once.

Kyrin wishes that they had words, but they've vanished, being elusive and non-forthcoming. If only they hadn't used them up already! But no, they'd just have to wait for their personal well of prose to fill up again. Their creativity hasn't gone away just yet, but their writing abilities have clearly waned.

Music is their only retreat at the moment. Kyrin is at a loss. Their partner is going through shit that they can't even imagine, and Kyrin feels duty bound to both feel happy to lift them up, and fight against the sadness of seeing their partner in mental agony.

They have become a recluse, barely talking to anyone. Their art lays in heaps and piles around them, staring up accusingly at Kyrin. The pencils they've been using are spread everywhere, covering the floor and looking hollow with over-use. Books, various cord, and other artistic junk are laying about in heaps, evidence that Kyrin's brain is totally focused on creative pursuits. otherwise, the room would look cleaner.

Their father has been both worried and amazed for Kyrin. Kyrin knows this, but can't willingly accept that they're good at anything, and that is why their skills grow on them so quickly.

Kyrin hopes that you've had a good day so far, and that if you ever wish to follow in their footsteps, that you at least keep you room in better shape than they've kept their room in thus far.