Thea Younger uncapped her marker and began to fill in the final panel in her graphic novel. It had taken her over a year to finish this bad boy, and as she inked the character’s cape with her blue marker, her sense of accomplishment only grew.
“There,” she said as she finished. “It’s done.” Getting up, she did a happy dance in the middle of her living room, not caring in the least that there was no music playing or that if anyone saw her, they’d think she was crazy.
Thea was used to people thinking she was crazy, or at the very least, odd. She’d gotten her first tattoo at thirteen (a friend of a friend of a friend had unwisely agreed to do it). Thea couldn’t regret the ugly little beetle that was still inked on her right wrist. You couldn’t tell that it was a beetle at this point—it look
