She laments over the ceaseless ticking of the clock. The second hand striking the barbed wire chords of her soul. She gets hurt, in situations that are not even stimulated by her. Like a disabled piece in chess that can't control its next move. It just has to wait to be played. It has to wait. Patiently. Either it'll get killed in all the hustle or be sung in ballads praising its sacrifice for the king.
She tries. Hard.
To let it all out. A game of snakes and ladders, where she wishes the snake to swallow her whole, so that she could begin the game all over again. Because once she reaches 100, it all ends and the porcelain piece simply dies.