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--February 20th 2022-- Layla can be found sitting at her desk in the apartment, a blank entry is seen in front of her as she just stares at the screen, her eyes heavy due to lack of sleep. If you were to look closely, it seems as though she's lost weight, not enough to notice at a small glance though. Forcing herself to sit up in her chair, she rests her tired hands on the keyboard. A deep shade of red coats her palms and fingertips, as well as the sight of bruised and cut knuckles on both hands. She began typing, unsure of what to write or how much longer she could force her eyes open and stay awake. "You'll find your purpose. You're strong. I know you will." - O.M È̵̯x̸̯͛̔h̶̼̏a̷̜͑͝u̴̘̲̅s̷̗͚̿ṫ̷̼̲i̷̬͂͋ȍ̷̠ǹ̵͍̬ .̴̳̼̚ ̶̢̿̑͜ P̴͍̦̅ą̷͙̉r̴̞͋a̸̛͚͓͂n̸̬̕õ̴͖i̴̼͠a̸͈̾͋͜ .̸̘͌͠ ̸̣͓̏̉ L̷̬͉͝ǒ̵ͅv̵̯͑ę̸̆̊ .̶̩̉̈́ ̶̞͐ T̵̳̄́h̸̡̊̾r̶͚͌ë̷̤́a̴̗͇͊͝t̷̼̒͜͠s̶͖̓́͜ .̴̯̊̈́ ̷͉̋ͅ C̴̛͔͑h̴̬̍͗o̵̢͖̒̌į̴̐̿c̴̟̅̊e̴͊̾͜s̷̳̈́.̷͔̒ If anything could sum up my last few weeks it is that ^. I have opened u...
--February 13th 2022-- The bright lights of Los Santos can be seen in the background, Layla is sat atop a wall of the Observatory, typing things down furiously on a laptop. Enough to think a few of the keys are going to fly off soon if she hits them any harder. The thing itself doesn't look too important, not fairly old or battered, not brand new either. It looks like it's scratched and some of the silver coating has worn away. A folder with a few letters, postcards and random pages...maybe of books...can be seen set down to the left of her. The wind howled past her, however she didn't seem to notice the cold. Too busy with whatever she's writing, a ŕ̴̟ä̵̖́v̷̬̎ę̷̉n̸̜͛ caws off to the right as it lands at the top of the Observatory. The sound of her phone buzzing pulls her attention away for a split second, she sighs, tapping the phone angrily a couple of times before it slips off of the wall and to the floor below. She hears the familiar c̶r̸a̵c̴k̵ of the screen break...