Camille
Camille's hands shook as she read over Abigail's feedback. She wasn't sure when the shaking began. Traditionally, she kept track of the days by when she slept. She stopped sleeping long before the shaking started. Right? Was it long?
She took a deep breath and read over the words together. They blurred more often than not, little red squiggles dancing over the page. Her own words were nothing but cruel hieroglyphics, trapping meaning into caged lines, as though a word was nothing more than a symbol, as though a thing was nothing more than its word. She put on her new pair of glasses. The doctor said this would help, but she was wrong. Perhaps vampire eyes didn't obey the logic of modern medicine.
"Logic," whispered Camille. "From logos. The word."
