I feel you
Date: Monday, November 27th
Time: 11.00am
Location: Hogsmeade
Characters Involved: Daphne Greengrass and OPEN
Rating: TBA
Daphne had slept very badly, on Sunday night. As a result (despite it weighing heavy on her conscience - and her wallet), she found herself messing about with parchment and owl talons at an absurd time of the morning, to inform Rosmerta that she wouldn't make it to her morning shift at The Three Broomsticks.
With that, she sank bank in to uneasy, fitfull sleep.
When it became apparent that she wasn't going to get many more hours rest, she dragged herself out of bed, and in to the bathroom, blinking at her pale, drawn reflection in the glass.
She looked insubstantial. Like a spectre. She opened her mouth, poked her tongue out, pulled a few silly faces - nothing alleviated her listless, ghost-like appearance. She was devoid of life.
It was a struggle, even, to take a shower - pull some clothes on - and head downstairs to rummage in the (practically empty) cupboards for some breakfast. She found a yoghurt, lurking at the back of the fridge, but once she'd opened it, her desire to eat it waned. She really wasn't hungry, after all.
Well aware that if she stayed in the house all day, she might well fade away, she pulled on her fuzzy blue jacket, and left the flat. Perhaps a walk would help wake her up. Liven her up. Revive her.
The streets were already bustling with shoppers, eager to make their Christmas purchases before the eleventh hour. Small children ran, and laughed, and sang.
She felt so incredibly detatched from them. From everyone. From the world, even. She kept her eyes trained on her feet, just incase they became detatched from the ground, leaving her sailing, in a fine mist, in to the ether.
She wanted nothing more than to snap out of this. Right now, she'd give anything to return to the Daphne of a few years ago - her mothers puppet. Safe, warm. Alive.
Time: 11.00am
Location: Hogsmeade
Characters Involved: Daphne Greengrass and OPEN
Rating: TBA
Daphne had slept very badly, on Sunday night. As a result (despite it weighing heavy on her conscience - and her wallet), she found herself messing about with parchment and owl talons at an absurd time of the morning, to inform Rosmerta that she wouldn't make it to her morning shift at The Three Broomsticks.
With that, she sank bank in to uneasy, fitfull sleep.
When it became apparent that she wasn't going to get many more hours rest, she dragged herself out of bed, and in to the bathroom, blinking at her pale, drawn reflection in the glass.
She looked insubstantial. Like a spectre. She opened her mouth, poked her tongue out, pulled a few silly faces - nothing alleviated her listless, ghost-like appearance. She was devoid of life.
It was a struggle, even, to take a shower - pull some clothes on - and head downstairs to rummage in the (practically empty) cupboards for some breakfast. She found a yoghurt, lurking at the back of the fridge, but once she'd opened it, her desire to eat it waned. She really wasn't hungry, after all.
Well aware that if she stayed in the house all day, she might well fade away, she pulled on her fuzzy blue jacket, and left the flat. Perhaps a walk would help wake her up. Liven her up. Revive her.
The streets were already bustling with shoppers, eager to make their Christmas purchases before the eleventh hour. Small children ran, and laughed, and sang.
She felt so incredibly detatched from them. From everyone. From the world, even. She kept her eyes trained on her feet, just incase they became detatched from the ground, leaving her sailing, in a fine mist, in to the ether.
She wanted nothing more than to snap out of this. Right now, she'd give anything to return to the Daphne of a few years ago - her mothers puppet. Safe, warm. Alive.