(no subject)

[shelley_winters]

Shelley doesn't move for a few minutes, the soft wind outside the windows roaring mutedly in her ears. Slowly, she pushes herself up on her elbow, dry-eyed and distracted. The blood soaking the front of her dress has cooled quickly, feeling sticky and horrible. The knife lies beside her, and with dizzying fascination she notes the faint line of red along the end of the blade.

The girl doesn't move again, cold and silent. More than anything, she feels sick.

Comments

[shelley_winters]

Shelley bites back a hysterical retort, keeping her face buried in the towel.

She can take being patronised. It's better than the alternative, and Vashti is leaving.

Vaguely, she wonders what is stopping her from drowning herself. She might have no intention of doing so, but contemplating the woman's reaction is satisfying. This room contains no surveillance, then? Interesting to know.

Slowly, avoiding the cuts on her left arm, she dresses.