[The weeping stops. There is no slowing. It turns off like she's twisted a spigot, leaving only the dripping residue of tears and less poetic substances.]
This isn't what it was supposed to be like.
[She sniffs, deeply and wetly, and wipes at bloody face with bloody hands, succeeding mostly at rearranging the placement of blood. Her nudity still seems irrelevant to her, her bare chest rising and falling unselfconsciously. ]
no subject
This isn't what it was supposed to be like.
[She sniffs, deeply and wetly, and wipes at bloody face with bloody hands, succeeding mostly at rearranging the placement of blood. Her nudity still seems irrelevant to her, her bare chest rising and falling unselfconsciously. ]
Why do I keep coming back?