in another life
She was a ghost in her own life, a broken thing they were tasked with mending.
But her mind was not mending. It was shattering. She spent hours staring at the canopy of the bed, tracing the patterns with her eyes until they swam and danced. She heard whispers in the crackling fire, saw Luciano's face in the wood grain of the floorboards. Sometimes she would laugh, a dry, rattling sound that had no mirth. Other times, she would weep for hours, her tears soaking the pillow until it was damp and cold. She was untethered, floating in a sea of grief and madness, with no shore in sight.