“My mother died.”
It breaks through the mist, the slow crawl of Misery's dawn. The sun's been lost to them for years now; Sparrow's been chasing shadows since she could walk. She squints through the grey at a man she hasn't quite learned how to forget, yet. It almost seems easier now that he's actually here.
The house is dull, now. Devoid of. Family peeling off like old wallpaper. It's not him, she's thinking. No room is ever full, anymore. Simpler, to pretend that he too, is just another body. She's gotten used to those. Gotten good at those.
“My sister's...” She stops. In her dreams she isn't ever herself anymore. Just running, just scared, just the woods. Yes, a body would've been much better. “...gone.”
Her head turns. “You're a pretty lousy consolation prize.”
Misery's always had a terrible sense of humour.
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