Her name is anything but one might picture in their head upon being introduced; it is not a sweet name, nor is it the sunshine on a cloudless day with daisies dancing and pollen swirling in the gentle breeze.

Her name, often misjudged, is anything but pretty or angelic as one might think when hearing it for the first time; it is not honey-dripped kisses or canes of sugar sweeter than a lover’s embrace.

Her name is not happiness or comfort, and it is not the leaping joy of a five year-old in a meadow of dandelions and innocent youth.

Her name is Melancholy, and it is anything but what one might imagine upon introduction.