Holding still, standing by herself colored in darkness, crowds thronging around her, eating their souls in front of her.

She was stuck in between like a single moth stirring among the butterflies, a lost moljac fluttering, farther and farther away from home, at an unknown place of rest,

A desk awaited her, if she's lucky some pencils.
Blinking fast and rapidly, she was trying to take it all in, in her solitary stance.

So later she could write it down, all of it, sketch she should.

Write everything, so she could forget it all.