Amy rolled in her stiff bed, her long brown hair becoming askew on her head. She opened her eyes to unveil the grey irises underneath her fleshy coverage, connected to an intricate system of red lines that made up her bloodshot eyes. She popped her skinny arms by stretching them out, her elbow clicking lightly. A press of air welled from her chest, before slipping out as a long-lasting yawn. She shuffled about in her blanket, her legs sliding up and down as she groaned. Her eyes darted to the window. It was early, early morning, maybe 4 am or earlier. Amy sighed deeply with an inhale, before swinging her legs lazily off the edge. She was only in her undergarments, as she usually was when she slept. A simple pink B-Cup bra and pink panties. She pushed herself up to her wobbly feet, looking everything like a cartoon character about to topple over a ledge. She popped her neck by rolling it, cringing as it made an echoing pop. She stumbled towards her sink, staring in the mirror at herself. Her young face was almost white, which wasn't much paler than normal. Her eyes were indeed bloodshot, indicating the rough night she had just endured on her rock-hard bed. She throatily croaked out a sentence, her voice not sounding like hers at all, but something like Morgan Freeman.