What a mess.
Felenae’s left panting, having screamed and cried herself hoarse, looking around her new apartment. Ink and paint drips from the walls and ceiling, a technicolor nightmare constructed of thrown and shattered bottles, and her own hand and fist-prints. An empty bottle had long since rolled off into one corner, to join the shattered mess of glass that borders the walls of her room.
She exhales slowly, her hands shaking as she slides down onto the floor to observe the handiwork of her much-deserved meltdown. She looks down to her hands, seeing the one that had cupped a lover’s cheek not three mornings ago, and pulled her down into a kiss.
Just ever so slightly higher up her arm, a purple sleeve. Checkered in broad squares of lighter and darker, and spattered with paint. Her mind drifts to another, a woman who had stolen her heart in a matter of days, and had -no- idea. But also, a friend, and a dear one.
She blinks, still feeling his arms so gently wrapped around her waist, taking care with his great strength. Still feeling the weight of his confession to her, and left with no idea of what to do with it.
She looks back out across her new room with a heavy sigh, still heartsick and overwhelmed. She looks up to her walls, all of their names written there in a rainbow of ink in a personal shorthand of hers, usually meant for journaling. At least, if any of them saw it, they wouldn’t know it.
“What a mess.” She closes her eyes, letting the blessed numbness of a bottle of Gilnean whiskey wash over her a little more fully, though not enough to stop her to feel all three of them, pulling at her heart in their own ways.
“Oh Elune, what a mess.”