She stays quiet
Mouth shut, hands together.
In the fetal position on the floor she sits.
the floor is cold against her skin. The dark is eating at her train of thought
She finds the blue light wrapping her in a warm blanket fight against the rot.
May as well decompose into the curtain strings and fall at every gust of wind from by passers.
How must she go on as her hunger for rot grows founder? The easy way out seems so close she could just touch it.
Maybe it was for the best.
Maybe they could have seen the signs.
