It hasn't been more than a week since Amelie awoke. Since then,she has spent most of her time in the spare room, refusing to step outside of it. Why should she? There is nothing in the world that could make her feel better.
Jackson did try to talk to her. He talked to her on the first night, telling her what happened. He even tried to explain to her the “do’s and don't’s”.
She barely listened.Truth be told, she couldn't accept it. Each night, from the moment the last rays of sun caressed the heavy curtains of the prison Amelie was in,to the first birdsong,she cried. No tears came, unfortunately,but she couldn't help it.
She was forsaken by someone she once called her everything. Once upon a time she may have found it noble. Loving someone so much you are ready to do everything to save them. But reality is much different than the books. If she had a choice,she would have chosen the welcoming arms of death, getting lulled to eternal sleep.
At some point,he has given up on trying to talk to her. She thinks she even growled at him once. That doesn't mean he isn't making his presence known. Each day,there are letters under the door. Talking about mundane things, like the latest town gossip,or a recently read book. She ripped them all.
Worse than the looming realisation of their fate was the change that came with it. Yesterday,she found a small handheld mirror in the room. Surprisingly enough,her reflection was crystal clear.
It's funny how quickly one's appearance can change. The eyes that were staring back at her were cloudy, with a colour that was hard to make out. Dark shadows surrounded them like some cursed halos.
The more she stared the more she didn't recognise herself: pale, almost ghostly skin,the bright freckles that once gave her a playful charm looking more like stains. Maybe it was vanity,but she could not stand seeing herself like this. So she shattered the mirror, throwing it at the wall. That way she can still pretend to be oblivious.
She still wore her masquerade dress,which was in a pitiable state- half of the feathers were ripped out,and there's blood all over it. It's ironic,she was like the embodiment of a slain swan. Maybe the masquerade was like her swan song afterall. It felt grand,up until that moment.
Unignorable physical changes aside,there also was this hunger. It felt… Alive. Like a feral beast clawing at their whole being, tearing up their insides. It was unbearable. Every thought was tainted by a need -something so relentless it made her wish for death doubly so. Nothing made it feel even the tiniest bit more quiet. It was maddening and infuriating at the same time.
A small part of her knew the solution. It whispered like a devil,oh so sweetly. But if she gave in, it would break the metaphorical line between her past and present. She would be no different from Jackson. A wretched creature unworthy to be seen in daylight.
A different part of her wondered how long it would take to starve to death. She already felt so weak…
Her ponderings were cut short by a letter. They almost threw it away without reading,but she decided to give it a chance. As much as she resented Jackson,she felt bad about not giving him a chance. He was clearly trying…
Upon opening,her attention was caught by one single sentence.
