IF YOU HAVE NO VOICE,
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If you have no legs, run. If you have no hope, invent. - Alegria
Location: Neutral Grounds
To have been so meddlesome since a child was the commencement and the passing of Vera Jayne's personality; officiousness of character and situation. She had been exceptionally vivacious, inquisitive in her adolescence; and, at thirty, was just an insignificant umbra of her past self. More numerous ladies could conceive and romanticize more of their surprise present than she did, principally under the condition that she hardly socialized with enough people to promote such philanthropic gift-giving. She went so far as to examine the absurd existence of the package as plausible reasoning to speculate something was off; and the sender, who brought about the novel package with her as the unpropitious receiver, couldn't have been from her circle of flimsy associations. Vera was a markedly solitary piece of work.
She was a singular combination of a careful, rash, neurotic snoop, and relatively proficient of keeping a level head, most discreet in her conduct as she took to carrying the box in her arms, mindful of how she handled the object of her misgivings, with steps that were more reserved than the leisurely stride of a famished alley cat. The purple-haired savage had enough flexibility to pry the door shut and turn the lock with her toes, and looked about as crooked as a hooded mage in a less than classy bar. Vera went up the stairs, with her sights on the door of her room before stepping right into her little zen zone and closing it quietly behind her. With her foot. Again. What a lowly woman she was, to not utilize the hands she’d been blessed, only to show preference to a minor laze.
First, the outwardly guache writer, decided to sit cross-legged on her modestly-sized bed, to engage in a minute of uncalled-for staring and puzzling. Secondly, she eventually condemned whatever suspicion she had of the thing and tore it open with her flower-like hands (mildly calloused from past performances, no doubt). Thirdly, that usual face of skepticism turned into an unforeseen look of dubiety. This could have turned out a lot more differently for her if she hadn’t caught sight of the blood. She could have been utterly ecstatic about receiving a free book and a free lacrima recorder, and just not have more questions. But ten minutes in and she was slapping her hands over her mouth, muffling all the screaming she’d been doing both mentally and physically. She was the perfect example of an exorcism as she rolled around the bed, clawing at her blanket, sheets and wrapping both items around herself until she looked about as snug as a burrito. “This is just a dream, this isn’t real! This is just a dream, this isn’t real!” yelled Vera into the suffocating warmth, when she had lost her supposed level-headedness.
Neither the adrenaline pumping through her entire body, nor the wordy mantra of comfort she made for herself, had any effect in shaking her justifiable disfavor to reapproach the crimson-caked message from hell. The only real push she had to this was that her den of alleviation was becoming unbearably hot, and that the longer she confined herself to it, the less soothing it was going to be. Vera threw everything off of her, unwillingly functional again, and reached for her confirmed fear. The longer she thought about it, the more it dawned on her that everything about this could rub her landlord the wrong way. She would most likely sick the authorities on her and that would stick her between a really bad place and a life sentence in prison. There were perks, she supposed, she wouldn’t have to deal with people. Maybe it wouldn’t be so bad if -
“We really don’t have much of a choice, do we?” whispered Vera softly, giving the empty space beside her a wary side glance. An excruciatingly pregnant pause for anyone who was watching, followed by an exaggerated shrug from her. “Well, if I don’t get to the bottom of this, then how else do you expect me to clear my name?”
The only sound in the room that could be heard was the deepest sigh, all coming from Vera.
“Of course I can’t just go in all willy-nilly.” Said the girl, brimming with practicality. “It’s not like I’m crazy or anything.” The dead air next to her seemed keen on withholding further commentaries, and left her oblivious to the meaning behind the prolonged silence. How snippy her (imaginary) friend seemed today. No matter, she had to do her research before embarking on yet another terrible adventure that involved getting out of the house.