It was her canvas of sorts. And the only thing she couldn't create was honest company.

She'll sit at the end of the world with a no-one and two nothings: one in either direction. The difference between the nothings being, that the nothing in front of her is a nothing full of potential. Just like she is. The nothing behind her however, is dead, dying, closing, closed. Her laughter will ring out into it all, and the existing world will explode around her feet. With everything gone, the nothings will become one big blank playing fielf for her empty sheltered thoughts. And she will flawlessly sculpt her potential deep into it, but with no satisfaction, because she's the only one watching.
There was never a point. But oh, the joys.