Viewing Rooms: River and Rebekah
Why. She didn't know why. There had a been room to dance, and all the kind lords and ladies came to watch. It didn't hurt. It stopped hurting like it used to, and now that was all over. Now she was alone again, and the blue hands were knocking at the windows again. They never used doors. They were never that polite.
River was dressed in one of the pretty, blue dresses she'd worn before, a dress with a wispy skirt and thin straps that didn't go at all with the black, lace-up boots she wore with it. She wore tight, black bicycle shorts with the dress. It was always more proper for a dancer. Or a Weapon. And to be proper was always important.
She was curled up in a small ball in the corner of the room, her unbound brown hair falling to obscure her face as she covered her face with her hands. She was afraid again. She didn't remember if anything had been real, and everyone held prisoner there was so loud. Even some of the jailers were loud. Always talking. Saying everything, meaning nothing. She trembled slightly, trying to shrink more into the corner as though she wanted to meld into it.