The woman rests her weary back against the solid wall, trusting in its integrity and strength to support and comfort her. Her shadowed eyes, once a sparkling brown with a tinge of green, now resemble twin bruises set deep in her face. Unblinking, the woman stares at the opposing wall, breathing a fervent wish that the support would collapse and settle on top of her pitiful body. The wall moves not, however, and the woman's eyes slowly close, to block the sights of the mortal world behind her.

Darkness surrounds the woman, coats her every thought and feeling with a thick residue of bitterness and despair. Playful colors flicker at the edge of the lady's vision, born from the tightness of the woman's closed eyelids. Wincing from the brightness of the prism, the chestnut eyes opens again, blindly searching for something to rest upon. Shadows creep stealthily from the corners of the room, crouching and readying themselves for a lunge at the young girl. The eager shadows thicken as more soldiers of dusk join the ranks. Whimpering, the woman turns her face away from the approaching menace in an attempt to ignore it.

Sharp-toothed doubts nip at the female's self-control, shredding it eagerly. The qualms circle inside the woman in a maelstrom, forcing down her hope and her spirit. Howling, her fears beat against her skull, demanding release. The doubts and fears blend and attack the stomach, demanding attention. A burst of nausea gives birth to a groan of pain and the woman curls into a ball, desperately trying to ward off the escalating panic and dread. Coiling around her heart like a snake, the fears feed off of her panic and swell to alarming proportions.

Characterized by a shrill keening, self-pity expands and flexes its wings. With a burst of doubt, self-pity takes flight inside of the woman and begins to wreak havoc on her deteriorating spirit. Sharp claws flex and extend, tearing the spirit asunder. Shuddering in terror, her spirit rises and flees once more, searching for a place to hide and to rest in. Gleefully, self-pity takes up the chase once more, fully enjoying its sport.

Something stirs deep inside the woman's mind, causing her to shudder as it is set free. Disgust slowly oozes up and away from its dank mire, searching for something to attach to and feed upon. With parasitical eagerness, her disgust separates and attaches to her self-doubts and fears. The emotions feed off of one another, which creates a bond stronger than steel. Staggering and gasping for mercy, the woman's pitiful spirit falls and lies still. Sluggishly, her disgust coats the spirit with a film of slime, then leaves the spirit to die.

The woman violently turns her body around once more, skinning her lips back from her gums in a feral snarl. The shadows hesitate in their approach, then creep forward once more, spreading eager tendrils across the floor. A steady pattering attracts the woman's attention, and she searches blindly for the soft, comforting sound. Her vision blurs as she scans the room, finding nothing but the darkness to comfort her. A small moan of frustration escapes from the girl's throat, and the woman staggers to her feet, determined to find the sound before her spirit and strength become extinguished.

With tiny, fear-filled steps, the woman edges through the darkness, turning into a dim hallway. A dim light filters through the shadows and the woman's hope rises marginally. The light teasingly touches upon her face before retreating, seducing the woman like a wood nymph tempts the woodcutter. Trailing one hand along the rough wall, the woman feels the bumps and slices in the paint, a mirror to her own soul. A nail bites into her thumb in a defense of its territory, but the young woman takes no notice of the small pain. With a sob of relief, the woman collapses against the door, pushing it completely open with the last drop of strength in her arms.

Brilliance glares across the room at the woman, reflections shine everywhere. Enameled surfaces absorb the light, then reflect it back a hundredfold. Squinting, the woman spies the clawed foot of the ancient bathtub, which scrabbles for a foothold on the slick floor. Blue tiles parade across almost every surface, marred only lightly by grout. The woman shuffles across the floor, resting her hands on the satiny white sink.

Her hollow eyes stare back at her in the mirror, pain etched sharply on the swarthy face. Once again, the dripping reaches her ears, and she twirls around, seeking the source. The woman finds nothing, so she peruses her reflection once more. A tear, shivering in its lone existence, perches on an eyelash before leaping to its doom on the sink's smooth surface. More tears leap soon after, fleeing the emotional battle inside of the young woman. Darkness edges into the corners of her vision and despair flogs the woman once more.

Sobbing uncontrollably, she flattens herself against the wall, slowly sinking down to sit once more, alone. Suddenly the woman halts her whimpers and stares curiously down at her arms. She raises one trembling, thin, weak arm above her head. Darkness enfolds her in its comforting arms as she watches the blood drip down from her slashed wrist to the floor, plunking a soft melody on the stalwart blue tiles. A crimson pool flows across the bathroom floor, a testimony to the woman's weakness. The blood soon chills and dries, leaving dark smears across the blue sea of tiles. Unseeing but peaceful, the woman slowly curls up in a pool of her own life's blood, content to sleep amid the dark shadows and crimson pools.