"Vera," she responds.
"Oh," you say, "Well how did you get here?'
"It doesn't matter," she says gloomily.
She sure isn't saying much. "Gosh, what's wrong?" you ask, concerned.
"Life," she says, and sighs. "I hate being here. I hate living like this. I'd rather be dead."
"Well, I'm going to find a way out!" you inform her cheerily.
She laughs, a cold, empty laugh. "You really think so? Good luck to you, then. Heaven knows you'll need it." Vera is silent for a while, and you think she's withdrawn again into her private prison. Then suddenly she throws something to you.