It was year of 1800's. Vincent are known for being Dutch Painter.

He was in the night cafe at Auvers-sur-Oise, ordering a Absinthe, a Strong Alcohol. while he was waiting for his order he saw her. He can't tear his eyes away from her. Simply because he noticed the trembling in her soul, insecure and unstable. Maybe as much as he was or less, it didn't matter. But he just knew it. He knew it as if mentally ill people smell each other's struggles. And by the way she was sitting alone on an isolated table, hiding her face as much as it seemed like she didn't want anyone to look at her or maybe that she didn't want to look at anyone. She didn't order anything. She doesn't say anything to anyone. As if her senses are shut down to rest, but her mind was corrupted with ugly thoughts.

She looked like a person who needed time to refresh their thoughts, but an inn isn't a place for that. And by the sudden shake of her shoulder, Vincent realized she was sensitive to noises. But she still put herself in such place. What for? Drinking? She's been here ever since he came in, or probably before him, and hasn't ordered anything yet. He had to admit, this weary soul has given him an inspiration and a desire to go for another artwork.