WHO: Isabella Clermont. WHEN: Mid morning, April 9th, 2019. WHERE: Inside the hotel, then up on the seventh floor. SUMMARY: Izzy is accepting that she's dead in a negative way. WARNINGS: Depression, talk of being dead, feeling neglected.
The hotel had begun to show its changes as Izzy wandered through the halls. Subtle things, mostly. People. Staff. The guests and their attire. A new bush or a different painting. The more she thought about the fact that she was dead, the easier it was to notice the differences. After speaking with Hope, she’d decided to wander.
Eventually, she ended up trailing after her family again. She’d seen her mom. Her dad. Veronica. She wasn’t sure why they were there. Maybe they’d come because the hotel let them know that she died? But no one was crying. No one, really, seemed that sad that she was gone.
After trying, uselessly, to reach her sister, Izzy couldn’t handle being ignored any longer. She started to run through the halls. For a while, timing worked in her favor. She managed to slow enough to follow someone through to the stairs or into an elevator. She bounced with nervous, angry energy. She found herself on the seventh floor at some point and waited. Waited as the hurt built in her chest to a level she didn’t understand. Veronica had been the one that got angry. Or got even. Izzy waited in the background for the mess to clear.
Now, she was alone. All alone.
She stood outside of the door to Veronica’s room for a while. The idea that someone could do this to them made her sick with rage. And when someone brushed past her, walked through her, Izzy’s mouth opened and let out the scream she’d been holding back all morning. She screamed in anger. Rage. Hate. Hurt. Fear. She screamed until she thought her throat might burst and then she screamed again.
The lights in the hallway flickered several times, but it wasn’t enough. Izzy screamed until she had nothing left.
When the world didn’t stop, when no one noticed, when no one rushed to placate her, she began to throw herself toward the paintings on the walls. She wanted to rip them from the frames. Her arms brushed against the vases and the potted plants. She attacked the decor with an uncharacteristic viciousness.
Her chest heaved with exhaustion when nothing happened. Nothing changed.
In so many situations, she had wished to fade out of existence. When her parents had curt words with each other or some guy grabbed one of her friends at a bar or a concert, she had wished to be invisible. Now she’d gotten what she wanted.
Somehow, she’d dragged everyone else with her.
But standing around and crying about it wasn't going to help anything. She steeled herself, wiping her face with her hands, before moving to wait for someone to open the door to the stairs or the elevator. She was going to find someone who knew why this happened to them. And then she was going to make them pay.
- - -
Anytime after 9am/10am, guests on the seventh floor can notice the lights flickering for several minutes as if they might go out completely. If they have noticed the paintings/plants, etc, on that floor at all prior to that morning, they could certainly see some new additions. Slight scratches. Some shredded leaves. A toppled vase. Nothing is broken or really harmed, but if you're looking for changes, you'll find them.