Bank of the Underground Lake
She was not widely known. Her name was sometimes whispered in secret, but it was followed by confused shrugs or wary glances; some knew her description by heart but never seemed to catch sight of her. She was physically forgettable. Nothing remarkable to pick her out from the this party, just another whiplash girlchild blending into the bustling crowds with ease and little care. She moved like downcast glances and cold winds. It shouldn't have been surprising that she went for the underground, the staircase with it's beautiful vibrancy did nothing for her.
She couldn't know what existed down here, in the damp shadows, but it hardly mattered. She wore no shoes, and her dress was the lone survivor of the Donner party, all shreds of white silk and yellowing lace. It was ripped to within an inch of decency, becoming a spiderweb of dripping threads and gossamer patchwork. Tonight, she was mosaic eyed, with a heart deep enough for a grave. Reaching the water, she sank onto bruised knees to try and catch a glimpse of her reflection in the water. It was too ease to forget who she was and why she was here. The dark water boasted little more than a glimmering outline of fudge colored curls, and she sat back in defeat.
It took her a moment longer to notice the blood. If she'd known of it before, she'd forgotten all about it on her walk through the foyer. A few fine rivulets of dark red moved down her left arm and dripped from her fingertips. Pitter patter. Glancing down, a shadowy pool bloomed from her chest, and now she knew. Now she remembered. She was dying.