Melody was in her room, listening to Twenty One Pilots very loudly on her headphones and humming along. She wore ripped jean shorts, a black tank top, and a clear plastic rain poncho. The floor, was covered in paint. Thankfully, she had put a drop-cloth down. You stood in the doorway, trying to figure out what she was trying to paint on the big easel. It seemed like a messy swirl of colors with no logic.
"Hello?" You call out, hoping to gain permission to enter. Melody doesn't hear you. Or was she ignoring you on purpose? You walk in and take her headphones off. "What are you doing?" You ask. Melody's reaction is not what you expected.