(no subject)

[shelley_winters]

It is several hours before Shelley gets bored of glaring at walls.

Not that she only glared. She walked about, examining the place, and mentally criticising the furnishings. Well, if he's determined to stick to monochrome, he should be prepared for that.

He still keeps knives in the drawers. She looks at one for a long while before carefully closing it again and stepping away to look out of the window instead.

But a long while after it had grown dark, her irritation is finally directed more specifically - namely at the fact that she is stuck in here. So the girl heads defiantly for the door, peering out before heading into the corridor to find her own room.

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[woven-threads.livejournal.com]

The corridors are empty and silent.

The curtains, like ghosts, flutter in the moonlight.

Their is something by the door of Shelley's room. A pool of red spread across the floor, and the body of a woman lying beside it.

In the moonlight, a knife could be seen buried in the wreckage of her throat. There was a small trail, upon inspection. The blood was spattered where her hands lay like a puddle where a child had been playing. The blood was still fresh under her nails from when she had tried to crawl away, still unwilling to die.