Gigi's novel.

In this world, there are people who walk alone.

Aria was laying on her bead, staring at the ceiling. She had a scrap of paper in her hand that she twirled idly. Suddenly, she got up, her short black hair crackling with static as it pulled away from the pillow. Aria ran down the stairs, jumping the last five. By the door, she grabbed her coat and pulled in on one arm as she opened the door and bust out into the crisp afternoon air.
At times, Aria was seized by the desire to run. Then energy built up in her until she felt like she would burst unless she ran. Her legs stretched taunt and her breath came in puffs of vapor. The sensation of flying came to her, the dream-like feel of godly disconnection. That must be my name, Aria thought. A song of air and tragedy. Leaves swirled down like veils of cloth torn from the wearer's face. And she dashed onwards.

To be continued. . .