She slept in sweatshirts to hide the shaking of her bones, the slow deterioration of her very soul that was bound to be the end of her, the name that slipped past cracked, dry lips her only prayer as night turned into day; she sounded like a broken record even to herself, the two syllables she hated to hear cracking the mend in her wounds every time her ears, deaf to anything else, recognised the sad tune that played against them. She heard the same familiar constant so much that when the sobbing and crying finally did cease, the lack of hitching in her voice shocked those that were allowed to be in her presence. She was lost in a world of depression and anguish, the only fallback she had promising her an even worse fate. But what else was there?
Sitting up, she locked eyes with the woman that had caused her the agony that still continued to rip through her very core, the faint trace of a smile painting her features into the picture of a hopeless, defeated artist's favourite nightmare. She reached out, lightly tracing the features that haunted the darkness that accompanied her dreams.
"Tegan," she whispered, the ghost of a memory long gone rippling with her composure as she sunk back into her mattress, sobs wracking her body once more as her former love's illusion faded away to nothing.