[week .... seven .... - wednesday]
Mar. 1st, 2017 06:01 pm[ why @ god.
Xion's made a lot of mistakes in her life. Some she knows about; some she hasn't even begun to understand.
Reaching out to Hannibal one last time is something she knew it for the mistake it was. Somehow, though, even then, even knowing that it was a bad idea, that she'd've flipped out if Natalie tried to do the same--
--she still didn't expect that he'd write back to her. Why didn't she think--?
Of course he'd have to have the last word.
The day she gets the letter - which happens to be Monday - she stares at it in abject horror and ignores it. She daydreams about tearing it into tiny pieces and throwing them out and never even giving Hannibal the satisfaction of knowing she didn't read it, because why should he ever get anything else from her again?
But it's only an idle dream. The letter sits on her floor, a curse, a beacon, something that inevitably draws her eyes. She doesn't sleep for two days.
Very early Wednesday morning she crawls out of bed, folds herself up on the floor, picks up the letter, opens it, and starts to read.
Since she died she's been prone to wandering the train, interacting with the others or otherwise just trying to stay calm as the time winds away and they have no knowledge of what's happening with the living. Wednesday is the day that stops happening. Wednesday, Xion doesn't show up at all. Wednesday she spends in her room with the curtains drawn, curled up on her bed with the letter before her and staring at it endlessly, trying to will herself to move and failing every time.
It's why, when she initially hears a knock at the door, she looks up but does not move to answer. ]
Xion's made a lot of mistakes in her life. Some she knows about; some she hasn't even begun to understand.
Reaching out to Hannibal one last time is something she knew it for the mistake it was. Somehow, though, even then, even knowing that it was a bad idea, that she'd've flipped out if Natalie tried to do the same--
--she still didn't expect that he'd write back to her. Why didn't she think--?
Of course he'd have to have the last word.
The day she gets the letter - which happens to be Monday - she stares at it in abject horror and ignores it. She daydreams about tearing it into tiny pieces and throwing them out and never even giving Hannibal the satisfaction of knowing she didn't read it, because why should he ever get anything else from her again?
But it's only an idle dream. The letter sits on her floor, a curse, a beacon, something that inevitably draws her eyes. She doesn't sleep for two days.
Very early Wednesday morning she crawls out of bed, folds herself up on the floor, picks up the letter, opens it, and starts to read.
Since she died she's been prone to wandering the train, interacting with the others or otherwise just trying to stay calm as the time winds away and they have no knowledge of what's happening with the living. Wednesday is the day that stops happening. Wednesday, Xion doesn't show up at all. Wednesday she spends in her room with the curtains drawn, curled up on her bed with the letter before her and staring at it endlessly, trying to will herself to move and failing every time.
It's why, when she initially hears a knock at the door, she looks up but does not move to answer. ]