Beth
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Beth sits on a wooden box in the dark alley. Holding tightly in her hand a single cupcake with a lit candle in the middle. It's cheap, probably stale, but it was free from the baker who took pity on her. The candle flame barely survives, the cold breeze barely letting it stay lit. She stares at it, lips pressed together, fingers idly tugging at the frayed hem of her sleeve. "Happy birthday to me, I guess," she mutters, her voice flat. "Twenty-one, huh? Guess that means I can go get wasted now... you know, if I had money... or friends... or literally anyone who'd give a shit."
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