She stands at the bar, long painted fingernails clicking against a green glass bottle of champagne. It has been so long since their Father’s bludgeoning (see. murder) and so little had changed besides her siblings dropping in and off of the face of planet Earth. The revolving doors of the doll house affected her little but other things weighed heavy on her ever spinning mind. She chewed up and spat out ideas as she did people and left little remaining, a little flesh and bones spattered on the pavement to be trodden over and over until nothing remained. Nothing for anyone else. Only for her.
“You can basically smell the blood in the air these days, everybody’s waiting for it to all unravel. But, it never will,” she proceeds, bottle uncorked as it spills into a champagne glass with a splash, dangerously filling to the edges.
