She frowns, rubbing under her eyes—exhaustion has climbed into her wrists, and even the small movement is a struggle. If only I could sleep, she thinks. I could face this head-on and not worry about constantly drifting away. The wall behind her feels like a cheese grater even through her coat, but even so, she feels like collapsing against it and closing her eyes.
And, because it’s so alluring, she does—for a brief second.
In that brief second, when the dark of her eyelids close over, she sees infants covered in their own blood, screaming, arms contorted at unnatural angles. Dogs without their faces, mouths opening as if to simulate a soundless bark, sores covering their bodies and tails chopped to nubs—
Marly quickly opens her eyes. And then she rubs at them, again.
“Dammit,” she mutters.
(Source: velvetdemon.net)
