abuse

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Beatrice's Eyes

Beatrice sniffs the air uneasily, unsure of herself in a way that she once vowed she would never be. Something has changed, something has shifted within her home's generous confines, and she hasn't the slightest idea what. An absence in the air; a lack of smell and noise.

"Cinnamon," she calls, "I need your eyes."

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Crystals, Window, Decapitation

"Why!" (slam) "won't!" (slam) "you!" (slam) "die!"

She brings the window down on your neck again and again, each impact sending fresh cracks shooting through your body's smooth glass, reopening the old ones you had so laboriously sealed earlier in the day.

A passerby glances at you, curious about the noise; you do your best to smile back, to ward off his attention. It's easy enough not to wince, to play this off as just some game.

It's not like you have proper nerves anymore, after all!

After a few moments he keeps on walking.

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