Mess
A sigh escaped her lips as she looked up at the ceiling. Blood dripping down her face as she reached over to grab another handkerchief. She must be getting sick. Lumielle hated how fragile she was; a flower that was about to bloom that was plucked from the ground. She despised how easily she could crumble in the wind. All she was and all she ever could be was disposable.
Finally, the stream of blood stopped as she looked at the bloodsoaked handkerchief and tossed it inside of her drawer. The scratching of the pen against the vellum and the ticking of the clock filled the silence.
"How long are you going to stand there?" Lumielle asked as the curtains billowed to reveal Asterias. He was standing, behind the glass door. His face was unreadable as she had her back turned to him.
"How long are you going to have me stand out here?" he asked.