It would have been wonderful to wake up beneath the shade of a pretty and well-kept oak tree in the park. The dappled sunlight shivering through the verdant canopy above. There had been a mild breeze that day, and as tired as he had been from the drive, she had lent her lap as a pillow and watched over him, sleeping like a child. For the most part, it was quiet. Silent Hill did seem to be an incredibly peaceful, serene town. No obnoxious teenagers barreled down the streets with their fast racing cars late at night, graffiti did not litter every corner and crevice of the residential area, and it seemed safe enough to walk around during the evening. She knew the familiar park the moment she had opened her eyes to the familiar layout of brick paths and layered landscapes. She would never forget it. Or any of the details and time spent in that town, for that matter. The name was absolutely wonderful, Rosewater. How many parks were as beautiful as their name?
But it had changed. The sun was obscured by a thick haze with a soup-like consistency, one that could even be felt. Instead of that quiet, it was completely silent. No wind, no birds, no life. She stood up from the hard and cold bench of metal and wood where she had been lying, folds of her day skirt unfurling just past her knees in their ever conservative fashion. As Mary looked around her dreary surroundings, different and yet unmistakably that same Rosewater Park, her breath caught and the memories seemed to suddenly hit her like a wall.
She was sick. She had been sleeping, or at least, pretending to sleep when someone very quietly slipped into her room for another one of those irritating and torturous visits concerning either money or pity or both. She couldn't stand it. And he couldn't, her, anymore either.
Everything else was a muffled meld of voices and visions and whispers, so warped and distorted that she could hardly make sense of them. Maybe somewhere, there was a flash of bright red and purple, something sharp, something like music, but everywhere there was sorrow. And then there was a room, James, and the time had come where she had truly died to rest in peace. She had always wanted to come back to Silent Hill. Maybe that was why she had returned there, to her gray and unhappy little piece of heaven. No, not Heaven, and maybe not yet Hell. Limbo seemed to be the best word for it.
The first thing she did was touch her face. Just her face. Feeling for the erosion of her tissues, the deep and permanent pockmarks and scars that disfigured and destroyed her inside and out. There were none. They were gone. But were they really? In a literal meandering daze, Mary made her way to the waterfront of the park, not sure what to make of her feelings. And of this Silent Hill.
As far as her appearance goes, she seems normal enough to other people looking at her, but to herself and especially through mirrors, she will look like how she did during the advanced stages of her illness. As the RP goes on, the signs might also begin to manifest themselves physically so that others can see it as well. Just let me know if this doesn't work or anything.))