"We tried to be better, but we aren't. I don't think anyone could last more than a week here if they weren't willing to do bad things." - Alba Reyes

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dmboogie
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A Delicate Machine
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After Isabel was safely out of sight, Cass finally began to breathe again. Took a moment just to clear their head, holding a hand against their racing heart. They had played dead for long enough for the predator to lose interest, after all.

"Don't need to tell me twice," Cass said as they got to their feet, adjusting the two bags on their shoulder. They were surprised that Isabel hadn't even tried to rob them. It would have been an easy segue, even. 'Oh, you don't have an appetite? There's no need for you to have all that food, is there then?' Not that they were complaining about it.

They looked at the rocking, nigh-comatose Lily for a moment. Reevaluated their impression of her. She wasn't like Isabel, not really - she was just smiling and nodding and killing when she needed to. Hoping for a killer's gratitude instead of mercy. It was easy to feel sorry for her, walking but still dead on the inside. It was hard to feel sorry for her, remembering the blood that Isabel had wiped on her shirt.

"Doesn't seem like you want to be, either." With that, Cass took one last wistful glance at the soiled art therapy room - lost to them for another day.

((Then they left.))
a tribute for the dead and dying

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The World's an Ugly Place, but I'm Still Afraid to Die · Art Therapy