(no subject)

[shelley_winters]

It hurts.

Everything hurts now, her head, and eyes and throat from crying on and off, weak and hopeless and angry.

(It's not fair not fair it's not-)

Her hands and feet are freezing cold, though it's a relief to press chill fingers to her hot aching head. She's stopped feeling hungry. Curled against the wall on her bed, Shelley shivers.

She can't get up.

She's not well, she should sleep if she's not-

(No dreaming, stop it, not fair)

No sleep. Rest a bit more, that's sensible, makes sense to rest when you hurt.

Her throat is sore, but she just drank some water, and she's too tired to get up again.

The door remains locked.

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[forsaken-bard.livejournal.com]

The door opened.

A fairly tall man, dressed in a black suit without a tie, slipped in quietly. A few slow steps as he watched the girl curled up in the corner. A tilting of his head, the look on his face a mixture of concern and apprehension. Slowly, he knelt down and stretched out his hand as if to touch her, but does not quite reach her body. His voice a soft, vaguely concerned whisper.

"Lady Shelley?"