A Note From Lara: Man, I am on a oneshot roll tonight! I just needed to write some stuff for some underloved characters, I guess, and drabbles are the best way to do that.
I turn the world inside out on a daily basis. Just a snap of my fingers and everything reshapes itself to how I want it. The world is my plaything. Really. I have no rules, because I make the rules. No one can tell me what to do if I don't really want to. I can drive anyone insane with practically nothing more than a thought and a little light-bending magic.
But tonight, I can't sleep.
Why not? Guilty conscience?
Yep. Definitely guilty conscience. I've been tormenting myself about what I did to the painter, showing up as his dead girlfriend. Simone or whatever her name was. I was teased with mock-friendship for the fat girl enough when I was younger to know what that kind of torture can feel like. You think you're getting what you most want, and then they rip it away from you.
So why do I turn around and do the exact same thing to everyone I meet?