Weeks.
Weeks pass and nothing changes.
Wake, pain, drink, sleep.
Say something to someone.
Sleep the pain away.
Dream of freedom.
Wake to darkness.
The bandages come off. Light.
The eye is dead.
Opal will never have her right eye back. The tiny extra one is useless.
Blood drips into the plastic bag.
She drinks it. She drinks through half of her reserve supply of Blue.
The wound isn't closing.
Opal will bleed out forever. Slowly, drip by drip. The silent drops of her life tick away. She feels it in her skin. A hateful slug laying eggs that take some of her and fall out, plop. Plop. Plop. Drop by drop.
Slowly dying.
No one is around to help.
She steals her friends drugs and starts taking them when Marceggle is asleep.
They don't help.
Her dreams are gray voids of emptiness, slowly filling with her blood. Drop by drop.
Her eye is gone. Drip, drip, drip.
Her arm bleeds. Drop, drop, drop.
Her mouth is carved on one side, smiling and talking only bring more pain. Tick, tick, tick.
Counting down.
She needs to do something.