as you walk into your small, cluttered living room, you're met with the sight you're most used to.

your father in his rocking chair, passed out, his hands clutching a bottle like it's the only thing worth holding onto in life.

you sigh.

You lean down to pick up the three empty whiskey bottles by your father's feet.

they make a soft clang as you set them down in the recycling bin. He shifts a bit.

you then put his cigarette out, grabbing the cups to wash them out again.

you only stop in your steps to gingerly touch a picture of your family, taken when you were just a little one.

you hear a knock. You flinch at how your father mumbles something and shifts.

with a sigh, you step over the broken glass on the floor, cups still in hand as your free hand grasps the old metal doorknob.

Mabel Black is standing there, leaning on the doorway with a smug smile on her face.

her black, shoulder length hair is tied into a low bun. She's wearing an oversized brown sweater, the kind with big buttons and love in every stitch. The hem of small black shorts poke out from beneath it, and a smirk adorns her lips.

"Hey you."