[ WP ] Describe yourself the way you would a character in a story . Tell us how we would perceive you based on your features , from the way you walk to the features of your face .

There's the superficial things, of course. She's wearing a red tank top. Cargo shorts. No shoes or socks to hide pink toenails. Short, spiked brown hair. Eyes looking intently at the sleek smartphone between her hands. Feet propped up on the arms of the burgundy couch, nestled among giant patterned pillows and tufts of cat hair. 
 
 But those things do n't matter. Everybody sees that, though it does n't quite register. No, you have to look, and pay attention. That's how you learn about people. 
 
 The red tank top is frayed at the bottom, the cargo shorts carry a small stain on the thigh. Perhaps she's lazy. Perhaps she's dressed for comfort. Or perhaps, she knows it does n't matter. 
 
 No shoes: her soles are tough, almost a little leathery. She walks without shoes often, probably outside. She does n't mind being a little dirty. But perfectly manicured toenails hint that yes, she still cares about appearances, at least a little. 
 
 At first the spiked hair looks almost styled, but then, one realizes, there's no goo holding it in place. She shifts to reveal where a pillow has slightly flattened some of the hair: she woke up this way. A slightly Mohawk-esque take indicates she sleeps on her sides. She probably rolls over at night, unknowingly keeping the look even. The chocolate colour is clean and shiny and slightly sun-tinted. Recently washed, most likely. Impossible to tell if that wash was in a shower or a mountain pool. 
 
 The smartphone is a bit dusty, but otherwise in good shape. The familiar way she holds it shows it is well-loved. A crinkle appears between her eyebrows, and she chews on her lip: she's focused on the world inside of the shiny thing. Many young adults are too wrapped up in their shiny things. I hope she is n't one of them, that she simply enjoys being connected. 
 
 She's stretched out, one leg over the other, with a slight twist to her torso. She does n't mind sitting in crazy positions. She may even enjoy it. Probably a characteristic of someone who likes to move. She shifts to curl into a ball; perhaps for comfort, perhaps to hide an insecurity she does n't want to look at. The piles of cat fluff around her do n't faze her. She has had cats for a long, long time, and she loves them. 
 
 These are the things I see, the things I look at and register. She looks relaxed and calm and thoughtful and happy. 
 
 But they are n't important. Hopes and dreams and fears and worries do n't show up in your features, your mask. She looks up when I walk into the room and lean on the couch. Is she ready to go see Dr. Sullivan? I ask. 
 
 No, she replies. I'm never ready.
