She felt tired, a tired so deep within her bones that she couldn't think she could possibly keep herself upright anymore. Looking down she saw her hands, the tips of her fingers were black as if she had dipped them in paint.
"In order to write I must place myself in the void. In this void is where I exist intuitively. But it’s a terribly dangerous void: it’s where I wring out blood." - Clarice Lispector, from A Breath Of Life
This was clearly used in a photo shoot, I like the way the hand has also been made up like a skeleton, against the clothing it stands out and the way the hair is all messy it represents death and how nothing is perfect.