As the rain pittered and pattered softly against the windows, Violet rested her face against the cold glass. She liked to keep to her room, sometimes staying in there for weeks at a time. Her mother didn't bother her, nor did her father, they gave her eternity to think and relax the idea of forever. However, eternity had not been kind, much less the 4 years she'd been long dead. After the first few days Violet had picked the razors back up from their intimidating shadows. After weeks they began to rust and she left them alone.
Time was no longer felt, but she counted. Violet etched the passing hours in her head, never losing a second. Why she needed to keep track did not make sense to her, but Vi felt it to be very important. Sometimes in the waking hours of the day, she'd blame her guilty conscious. It was a damned thing, her mind. How she hated it so. On some occasions, she'd smash her head until she could no longer move. Though, it was through time that Violet moved on and began to entertained herself by looking out her bedroom window. Or at least, the room she claimed as hers.
Once the rain cleared, the clouds moved out and allowed the sun some space. Rays shined on Violet's face and she winced, adjusting to the sudden brightness. Sometimes she'd close her eyes to try and allow the sun to take her away. When she was younger, Vivien would tell her daughter that the bright rays of sun you sometimes see are paths of people going into the "inevitable other," as she called it. The light would never reach Violet, for the house would not allow it. How she wished to leave.
Finally leaving the continuing thought in her mind, Violet removed herself from the window and wandered out from the room. The stairs made her arrival to the bottom floor more substantial than she desired, but somewhere deep inside, the attention felt nice. Chad and Patrick sat in the living room, looking quietly at nothing. A fine example of what this house had become- quiet people who are no longer anything. Somehow, the silence had reached even little Jeffrey. As Violet walked into the kitchen, Nora sat at a bar stool and played with her thumbs, implicating that even after rejecting the child, she wishes to care for it. Violet often compared the woman to a younger version of herself, one where she would constantly become bored of her new toys, only to wish them back after receiving new ones. Forgetting why she even came into the room, Violet walked out and went back upstairs to recollect herself after having hoped for some sort of change in the mood.
There were new words written on the chalkboard, as there were often. Sometimes by Violet herself, and sometimes by... Him, but she would not longer accept his presence. Vi lifted her hand and wiped it across the board as she walked by, not caring to see what it read at all. She returned to her bed, sighing rather dramatically.
Today, just as many others have been, was very unsuccessful.