Deep
Thoughts grow violent in her mind, then still. Calm gives way to Despair. Desire's strange twin welcomes a frequent visitor to her realm. There is no joy in the greeting for either of them. Mazikeen is alone even in loneliness. Damp, the walls cry out to be touched, saddened by their own features. She is aware, like so many others, that she will never be touched. Her knife glints beckoningly in this strange gray area. Cold steel promises at least temporary relief. Everything is temporary, she reminds herself as she picks it up, slashing through flesh decaying and pale. Every so often blood emerges. Wiping it away is a waste of effort. It is an art, focusing solely on pain. All else melts away, releasing it's frail hold onto consciousness with a faint cry of grief, and she falls, exhausted...