Innocent Flower? Or Serpent Under't?
She enters with all of the grace of a Queen, and that is fortunate for she is indeed one, or else she had been. Before she died.
Now her head is raised, her eyes nonchalantly glancing upon her new surroundings, her hands clasped tightly before her so she might resist the urge to wring them, to attempt to prey the blood red stains from them, stains that only she can see. She shows no other outward sign though of the turmoil of heart and mind, the weight of her conscience.
"What strange manner of place is this?" She whispers to herself, clearly unaware that she is not entirely alone. Her mind is moving quickly. She was dead, and yet she breathed and walked and spoke and felt...Surely after her acts she could not have found herself in a kind Afterlife.
Typist: ...So, I have no willpower. At all. Lady Macbeth from Shakespeare's The Tragedy of Macbeth. Have at her. She's a tad mad...
Now her head is raised, her eyes nonchalantly glancing upon her new surroundings, her hands clasped tightly before her so she might resist the urge to wring them, to attempt to prey the blood red stains from them, stains that only she can see. She shows no other outward sign though of the turmoil of heart and mind, the weight of her conscience.
"What strange manner of place is this?" She whispers to herself, clearly unaware that she is not entirely alone. Her mind is moving quickly. She was dead, and yet she breathed and walked and spoke and felt...Surely after her acts she could not have found herself in a kind Afterlife.
Typist: ...So, I have no willpower. At all. Lady Macbeth from Shakespeare's The Tragedy of Macbeth. Have at her. She's a tad mad...