The pounding in her head was getting worse and had been since they left Aughaire. With the passing of each day it seemed to intensify a little bit more- like the beating of a drum in a death march that grew ever louder as the victim neared closer to the gallows.
It was a pain that she couldn’t drink away. Her beloved alcohol had failed to dull this ache- and she had certainly drank enough to numb even a troll. She couldn’t just ignore this, not this time; it wouldn’t let her.
And then there were all these strange dreams and nightmares that were haunting her.
She had never had dreams like this before- she had only ever had the one recurring nightmare. But with the discovery of that bracelet in her mother’s tomb, she had been “dreaming” each night without fail and now she dreaded closing her eyes.
From lack of sleep, her body felt sluggish- heavy even- and it was an effort to stand up and walk over to her bag to rummage through it for another flask of moonshine.
Hope was not something she believed in nor did she ever allow her mind to think such “foolish” thoughts. To her, it was nothing more than lies the desperate and helpless told themselves in order to momentarily escape the harsh realities of life.
However, she was now one of the desperate ones.
She longed for that feeling of numbness again, to be able to forget her present troubles and pains, and to somehow erase these sorrows of the past that she had stirred once more. She couldn’t let others see her like this- she was the master of a grinning facade.
As she looked to that flask in her hand- its silver surface reflecting the warm rays of the sun onto her cold, frost-kissed face- only one thought mattered:
“Drink up, and hope to forget again...”