Thread : Portrait of a Ghost Characters: Abigail and open Date: 9/21, before lunch Warnings: graphic description of injury, science, angst Subject: Abigail comes to school in a generic sweater and a skirt. Her skin is without makeup, her eyes dead. She drags her body into the building apathetically, her feet barely touching the floor. aka ~POWERS~
For Abigail's standards, she was a mess. Walking in in a knit floppy sweater that must have belonged to her grandmother, a long skirt that trailed the ground, Abigail simply was not herself. And she held herself, body arched over as her arms hugged around her. The biggest fight was several days ago and she just didn't have the same access she did to all her favorite things. Zara had more or less taken away Abigail's privileges and Abigail resorted to faux running away, or at the very least, hiding out in the estate far from her room. Not that having the access to her clothes mattered anyway, she was hardly in the mood.
She missed the dance, trailed in late to a lot of her classes, her sense of style was simply fading and the apathy continued to envelop her. She was still too proud to tell anyone how she was feeling, but her wall was starting to fade. Zara cut deeply into any ounce of pride she had. It started as only a few days in between one another, Zara was now just unyielding, taking each moment to beat the tar out of Abigail mentally and physically. It didn't matter if she weighed less or more, Zara thought that Abigail was cheating the scale when she was lighter, and if she was heavier Zara would claim it as Abigail's real weight. And Abby? She started to believe it. Fashionable girls weren't fat. Thats what Zara told her. Girls did everything right, Abigail did nothing right. Nothing good enough for dear young mother.
She didn't really talk to her friends about her family, how she actually felt. Abigail wore a lot of confidence, most days, even if she sometimes struggled to hide it. It was the confidence that she was going to pull through Lima, that she was better than it. Today it didn't even matter. She didn't even want to be there, not because she hated the school, it was because she hated herself. Every second she was back in the school she started to feel all eyes on her, judging her. Even in the empty halls she heard laughter. She swore there was laughter. She couldn't take it. She wanted to crawl in a hole and escape, fade into oblivion.
She moved past the audition sheet, seeing that she got the role of Little Red Riding Hood. She should've been pleased, she really should have, but it was the last thing on her mind. She only saw the dates for rehearsals and the concept of having to appear at Lima more than necessary was gut wrenching.
She floated by, moving slowly towards her locker - and she really was floating. While the skirt skated against the floor her feet barely did, her body suspended in the air like she was in Peter Pan. Perhaps if she was more aware or herself beyond her own thoughts she'd notice that no footsteps echoed after her.