<div class="spoiler_container"><div class="spoiler_header" onclick="hideSecond (this);" role="button">CS</div><div class="spoiler_body">Name: Mia Jareau. <br/>Age: Died in 1990 at the age of 21.<br/>Appearance: (http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-60p_KAixx_s/TdfCCXF8O3I/AAAAAAAAAmQ/tljRSWGrKYU/s1600/Where-she-went.jpg)<br/>Location: Lake Valley Uni; room 217.</div></div><br/>Someone was here. She could sense it. She could hear the man's large footsteps as he padded up the hall, heard his fumble into his jean pocket for the key, hissed in anger as the door was unlocked and opened.<br/><br/>Mia had been aimlessly floating around above the bed, lying down with her eyes closed. She often pretended that she was still alive, that she was just another college student taking a nap before getting up to go to her AP English class. Not a freak ghost who couldn't move on, who was stuck in the mortal world to dwell in self pity and hate, always hate and anger.<br/><br/>The man was broad, tall, handsome. Mia found herself in approval, and shook her head violently, then glared at him with dead gray eyes. Not that he would see her, no one ever saw her. No one had a sixth sense, no one was special enough. It was rather lonely.<br/><br/>So she didn't flinch when the light turned on, didn't move from his bed, merely sat up and glared, barely transparent, her form shimmering occasionally to blend in with the blank wall behind her before resuming its gray shape.<br/><br/>"You look like a loser." She spat, more for herself than him. It helped her vent on the sudden roommate situation, and it's not like he could hear her anyways..