Right in the middle of her forehead...
Drusilla had taken to bed. She had a terrible headache and the bitter chords of the world were too loud and too quiet at the same time. Something was happening and she couldn't see it. The stars were falling, raining fire down on her and it stung like wasps inside her clothes.
She laid one delicate wrist across her eyes and whispered to the moths and crickets, telling them about the wasps, but they skittered away for their own tea party, leaving her there in her misery.
The sight was fading, she could feel it. It had been part of her since before she lost her heartbeat. It was melting, running away as it thawed and slid like frost off glass and all her madness was filling the void.
She laid one delicate wrist across her eyes and whispered to the moths and crickets, telling them about the wasps, but they skittered away for their own tea party, leaving her there in her misery.
The sight was fading, she could feel it. It had been part of her since before she lost her heartbeat. It was melting, running away as it thawed and slid like frost off glass and all her madness was filling the void.