Zane

Zane was a girl of pain. A masochist, but still sad. She wore her long, black hair straight down, letting it reach her waist. She wore short fingerless gloves the color of fake blood. Her tank top was white and her pleated, knee length skirt was black, like her knee high boots. Her closest companion was the nearest sharp object. They were her weapons. Against people getting to close. Against her demons. Against herself.