Basement, 33 Apocalypse Avenue, Monday Evening, Spelled Properly
f Lizzy stayed in bed for a week, then she could quite possibly pretend that none of this had ever happened. The dance had been simply lovely, though the carnival proceeding it, decidedly less so. All of which paled in comparison to her losing her wits and declaring herself to be a vampire and ... dear heaven, she may very well have murdered her landlord. She was at least complicit in that unfortunate streetwalker's death.
It was all a nightmare. It could hardly have been else. Even madness could not rouse the dead back into the undead, as she had done with -- she was very nearly sure that had been one of her TAs.
Lizzy could not stay in bed for a week. Lizzy would rouse herself admirably, and go and visit all of those individuals that she had maligned, and discern how many of man and God's laws she had violated this weekend, and hand herself over to the proper authorities if need be.
Perhaps she would do that tomorrow. Today, she was doing admirably at never leaving this house again.
(Linkdroppy. Also open for any who would stop by to see the no-longer-undead Miss Bennet.)