On the surface, the distance seemed almost normal. Both of them had lived together long enough to know when the other needed space, and when Wanda isolated herself, Jessica didn't exactly question it. Of course, she knew that her friend was going through something, that her soullessness bred apathy, and sometimes it was easier to disappear rather than pretend to feel anything at all. Jessica was there for her, but only as much as Wanda wanted her to be. But ever since Wanda got a piece of her soul back, the distance seemed much worse than before. Things would be better now, that's what she'd said. Only now, on that seemingly rare occasion that Jessica did see her anymore, it was when the other woman came home at weird times, blank-faced, or when she'd look into her room and find her looking comatose. Something was wrong, she knew that. But apparently it was a lot worse than she was led to believe.
Jessica set a small bag of groceries on the counter. Wiping her hands on her jeans, she went into the hall and it hit her--the smell of rot. It was faint at first, but as she moved closer to Wanda's room, it grew stronger, more pungent. She grimaced, put her ear to the door and knocked. "Hey, do you smell that--Wanda, are you in there?" She'd seen her earlier that day, so it couldn't be that if she opened that door, she'd find Wanda dead, right? That was overreacting. Holding her breath Jessica pushed open the door and turned the light on, and covered her mouth as she took in the horror before her. "Fucking hell..." Her face fell in worry, confusion, disgust, as she moved through the graveyard of rotting animal carcasses.