The pain surged again, jagged and relentless. With a resigned sigh, she unscrewed the cap, the motion slow, deliberate, almost reluctant. She tipped two pills into her palm and swallowed them dry, her throat constricting briefly as she leaned back in her seat. Her eyes closed, shutting out the golden expanse of clouds outside the window, her mind a churning sea of calculated thoughts.
The newspaper fluttered on her lap, forgotten but not abandoned. Her fingers absently toyed with its edges, the faint creases marring the pristine photograph of the man and woman at the funeral. The smile she had worn that day—a coy, almost loving expression—was a lie so seamless even the camera hadn't seen through it.
The plane tipped gently, signaling its descent. Around her, passengers stirred, their voices soft murmurs as they gathered their belongings. Dragnelle remained motionless, waiting until the cabin was nearly empty before rising. Her movements were unhurried, each step measured, as she retrieved her cane from the overhead compartment. Her fingers instinctively brushed the carved wings of the beast's head, a talisman of control she refused to relinquish.
The inevitable happened as she passed through security. The metal detectors screamed, drawing unwanted attention. The guard, a young man with a tired expression, waved her over with a practiced smile.
"Sorry, ma'am. Just a quick check," he said, his tone detached.
Dragnelle nodded, her carefree smile slipping for a moment, revealing the simmering irritation beneath. The scan was routine, but the stares of others pricked at her composure. She ignored them, her gaze fixed far ahead, her mind weaving through layers of strategy and deception.
The rhythmic tap of her cane echoed through the terminal as she moved toward the exit. She passed a newlywed couple laughing softly, their joy a stark contrast to the heaviness she carried. For a fleeting second, she paused, her lips curling into a faint, mocking smile. The sight of their innocence stirred nothing in her but contempt.
Behind her, a voice called out. "Miss, you dropped something!"
Dragnelle turned to see a young woman from the plane holding up the crumpled newspaper. The image on the front page glared at her like a ghost.
"Keep it," she said, her tone as cold as the smile that never reached her eyes.
As she walked away, the soft hum of a tune escaped her lips, unrecognizable yet oddly soothing. It was a melody no one else would know, for it belonged to her alone