Hurricane, Utah. Winter 1998.

The heavy wooden door to the library slowly opened, emitting a long creaking sound that pierced the silence, sounding like a plea for help. Millie walked inside. Before her apathetic gaze, rows of dusty shelves lined up with hundreds of books for every taste. This place had become a refuge for her, where she could hide from all the noisy, joyful idiots who were having meaningless sweet conversations with each other, none of whom understood her and did not even want to try. The girl went to the shelf with Gothic literature - one of the few things that gave her pleasure (if you can call it that). There was not much choice, so, after standing for a while, Millie took her favorite collection of Edgar Allan Poe's works, which she had read from cover to cover several times already. With the book, the girl sat down at a table in the far corner, enjoying the silence and immersing herself in the gloomy atmosphere of the poems.