That had happened, and frankly Rosalind feels sick about it. She'd liked Mahiro. She'd liked him quite a bit, and to have him die for something even more pointless than these farces of a trial is just . . .
She's tired, she supposes. Each time someone dies it feels like another little weight added to the center of her chest, leaving her feeling exhausted and heavy.
She'd gone up towards the solar room for most of the day, not wanting to speak to anyone. Stupid, maybe, to do so on a Thursday, but it's not as if she's doing it at night. Rosalind lingers there for hours, curled up with a few books she'd brought from the library, determined to distract herself from the fact that not only are people she'd been fond of dying, but that she'd grown attached to them in the first place. That had been stupid of her. She ought to have steeled herself off from everyone, but it's too late for regrets.
She doesn't come down until evening, but the scent hits her the second she steps into the bedroom wing. She's more familiar with it now than she cares to be, and the closer she steps to their room, the stronger it gets. And she knows, she knows what she's going to find when she opens the door, and yet--
There's no corpse. Nishitani isn't there, and Majima isn't in a frothing rage or wallowing in despair, so clearly he's alive, and Majima is all cut up, and their room is bloody.]
no subject
[So. That had happened.
That had happened, and frankly Rosalind feels sick about it. She'd liked Mahiro. She'd liked him quite a bit, and to have him die for something even more pointless than these farces of a trial is just . . .
She's tired, she supposes. Each time someone dies it feels like another little weight added to the center of her chest, leaving her feeling exhausted and heavy.
She'd gone up towards the solar room for most of the day, not wanting to speak to anyone. Stupid, maybe, to do so on a Thursday, but it's not as if she's doing it at night. Rosalind lingers there for hours, curled up with a few books she'd brought from the library, determined to distract herself from the fact that not only are people she'd been fond of dying, but that she'd grown attached to them in the first place. That had been stupid of her. She ought to have steeled herself off from everyone, but it's too late for regrets.
She doesn't come down until evening, but the scent hits her the second she steps into the bedroom wing. She's more familiar with it now than she cares to be, and the closer she steps to their room, the stronger it gets. And she knows, she knows what she's going to find when she opens the door, and yet--
There's no corpse. Nishitani isn't there, and Majima isn't in a frothing rage or wallowing in despair, so clearly he's alive, and Majima is all cut up, and their room is bloody.]
What the hell happened!