She had lost control. And she was only beginning to realize her reactions and impulses, the tone of her voice, and the severity of her shouting, only after the pain had been inflicted and the words were already said. Luckily, at that time, there had been no one to hurt as a result of her outburst. The confusion that should have overtaken her upon first awakening was finally settling its cold and strange grip about her mind and senses. She looked hideous, like the monster she had become and died as, and yet she felt fine. At least, she thought she did. It had been so long since she had last been well. She had changed both inside and out as a result of the disease. But wasn't the punishment of this too much?
Was she really so vain?
Mary startled when the sound of a voice called out through the haze, that fog only seeming to deepen to obscure and hold back the shadowy form which was walking toward her. Frantically brushing at her cheeks, Mary fumbled up and back a few feet, hands wringing one another as they were clutched to her chest. She didn't know who it was, or who it could be. She didn't even recognize the voice. And still, she ventured to guess.
"James?" Mary called out, her voice breaking from the strain between quiet and loud. Swallowing hard, she tried again. "James, is that you?" She hoped that it was, at the same time she hoped that it wasn't. Just like before, she could never seem to make up her mind, or sort out and properly arrange her feelings. A hand touching her cheek, she turned her face away from the approaching individual, just in case, so that they wouldn’t really mistake her for a monster. As much as she didn't want to be seen, however, she didn't want to be alone.