[ sleep ]
Stella was incapable of evading the vivid machinations of her subconscious recently, it seemed.
Sheβd never been particularly prone to fatigue or tiredness, and even what she was, the woman always seemed able to draw from a somehow endless pool of motivation. But recently, the trials had become so frequent she almost thought the entity was conspiring against her. Sheβs wake up at the campfire from a trial with a horrible ache in her hand where Frank had stabbed through the ligaments, or a feeling of vacant pain through her shoulder where The Shape had run her through on a hook. And though Stella would never, ever admit it, the constant tinge of pain was taking a toll. The curse of heavy eyelids met her at every quiet moment, and quick naps brought utterly visceral visions.
Her face might contort ever slightly, her brow might wrinkle on what should be a peaceful, slumbering expression. No one around during ever really seemed to want to intrude, only giving each other, nervous concerned looked. Except Marie, that empathetic girl.
Stella jolted awake, startled out of her sleep by a tentative hand on her shoulder. It took a moment of fumbling over her words, sounding our nothings as she quickly regained her barrings.
βWh-Whatβs goinβ on, whatβs happening?? Is something wrong? Whatβs up?β She pushed out, but the words still melted together a bit.
@chubbymarieuwu















