Gluttony stared at the woman in the mirror, poking at the grains of rice in her porridge.
She looked nothing like the woman he had fallen in love with. The air of confidence and mischief was nowhere to be seen. Instead, there appeared to be an adult, weary with the weight of the world on her shoulders.
Her hair, while still a light color, was now more white than pale blue, and it hung down to her waist. Strands were twisted together as if she hadn't bothered to brush her hair in a while, but while it would have suited the Hattie from before, it didn't suit this woman.
She was wearing a white long-sleeve shirt with dried blood on her right forearm. The sleeves covered half of her hands, with her thumb sticking through a hole in the cuff. Even her pants, a tight leather-looking pair, didn't suit the Hattie he knew.
