** Trigger warning: Depression, suicide. **
Ophelia Moonwell stirred awake.
The voices had grown eerily silent-- which was a rarity.
But in their place...
Thirst.
Hunger.
The nagging and bothersome biological need to visit a chamberpot.
Were those voices too?
Were they as real as the others?
Still, Ophelia also had other motivations.
...to stay in bed, in particular.
She untwisted her blankets, burying her face into them.
When was the last time they were washed?
She didn't want to move.
She didn't want to get up.
There were so many things she *needed* to do... tasks she'd put off for far too long.
--but she was in no state to even begin.
She hadn't bathed in weeks... weeks of time she'd spent mostly feeling sorry for herself.
She was broken.
She lost her husband. Her best friend was dead.
⊰ You didn't deserve them. ⊱
