angelique could no longer discern how many days had blurred into each other since it happened. time slipped from her grasp- sand through skeletal fingers- leaving only a jagged, disorienting haze in its wake. the world had twisted into something nightmarish, as though razorblades had carved into her very eyeballs, each blink a grotesque swirl of black ichor bleeding into every corner of her vision. it was as if her eyes themselves were foreign objects, something she longed to scoop out of her skull with the detachment of a melon baller—but no reprieve awaited her even in blindness. the dreams still clawed at her sanity, as relentless as the guilt and terror she carried.
everything was so fucking fucked.
perhaps this was what the universe had ordained for her, a cruel and calculated judgment for the life she had led—cold and merciless, and devoid of remorse. her sins had been tallied with a brutal, indifferent precision, and now, she stood in the presence of her reckoning. and monique- the fucking rotting bitch- the embodiment of her every transgression, a spectral figure draped beautifully in death, had surfaced, and with her came the suffocating weight of necrosis, creeping into angelique's very bones. it was a shattering of the psyche, inescapable- the slow descent into madness that left her haunted— by the better version of her own reflection, by the harrowing truth that her time was fractured long before she ever tasted the immortality she craved. never would she be wrapped in it's throes- her one lover denied.
maybe this was why vampires were demented—because living beyond death meant outliving your sanity, devouring your mind until all that remained was that ache of emptiness.
her left hand, trembling, dug its nails into the pallid flesh of her forearm, as though the pain would anchor her. she tried to steady her right hand, shaking as it brought the cigarette to her lips. but even this small ritual felt pointless, as if fear itself had nested within her, a parasitic thing coiled around her spine, breathing cold goosebumps into her skin with every kiss. the terror had become a part of her- now a pulsating entity.
and why where the dressing room mirrors covered?
because staring back at her in every reflection was monique's smile upon her face—a sweet, haunting smile that mocked her with familiarity.
angelique had never known fear like this- the kind that gripped her insides and twisted, making her feel like a caged animal. it wasn't the fleeting kind of fear that comes and goes in a heartbeat; it was something far more sinister, far more primal and it was a part of her, sinking into her bones. turning the tables, it left her breathless and paralyzed, like prey caught in the jaws of a predator—a predator that wore her face, had her memories, and acted out her sins. and if monique had returned once, what was to stop her from crawling back from the abyss again?
she vowed to avoid gutters, catchbasins and drain covers from now on.
her teeth grazed her bottom lip as the familiar sound of footsteps approached, each echoing step fraying her nerves. she clenched her eyes shut, as if the darkness behind her lids could shield her from the waking nightmare that threatened to consume her. a single black tear traced a cold path down her gaunt cheek, her body betraying her desperation. mid-breakdown, the only thing she wanted was to be left alone, to be spared the presence of anyone—anything.
"whatever it is, i'll get to it later," her voice trembled, cracking at the edges, as though the words were being ripped from her fragile composure. her breath hitched, a quiet plea hidden in her next sentence. “just—” she shook her head, as if trying to shake off the horror still gripping her, “not now.”
she could almost feel monique's eyes on her, lingering like the smell of rotten water from a sewer grate.
