Mido could feel the shiver in her legs already.
“No. No no no.” She closed the door behind her. Bolted it. Sun-stain shadows, not as long as dusk, but measuring out the inches since noon. They told her it was time. At first the episodes seemed erratic. But after the first week, a lucky week, she had managed to note the patterns.
Her neck stiffened. No. Knees buckled. No. She could feel the shiver in her ribs now, could feel the tense welling of vomit in her lungs. No. A mechanism of its own, back arched, arms thrash outwards. Forty five degree angle- then eighty.
She could see herself. Thrashing about like ragdoll stuck to the heel of a warhorse. Black vomit. She was getting used to watching this now, but it never got any less pleasant. She anticipated it with a certain kind of shame. Shame like when she first leaned in to
No. No.
Ninety degree angle between wrist and shoulder.
No.
Ankle at 75.
No.
Back flat against the floor now.
Cough it up. Cough it up and catch the air in your next gasp.
She wipes the vomit from her face with the back of her hand. Sits up and pulls herself away from the mess- breathes. Fingers still shaky.
She sits. The vibrations of sound waves and epilepsy rolling along on the last tremors. Close your eyes. Take deep breaths. Routine now.
Pulls the bucket out from under the bed. The rags. She starts to wash the evidence away and quietly keeps her mind occupied with simpler things: the wildflowers in the Barrens bloom at this time. Makes a note to go see them.
She stands cautiously, looks in the mirror. Her left eye reflects a blindingly bright light. The eye she bartered from hell. She ignores it, looks herself over. Pulls a small wash bin from the closet and starts to wash the ink off her face. She tries to stifle a laugh. Washing vomit off of herself at 120 years. She wonders what 200 years will look like.
She stares at the mirror a while. An ermine cut in half, blood caked around its ears. It grins at her knowingly.
“You shouldn’t strain yourself.”
“I know.”
“You strain me too.”
“I know.”
“You think he’ll really notice?”
“Maybe.”
“He’s with shadows now. All you have is remnants of me.”
The girl paused, setting the rag on the side of the wash bin. She stares at the mirror. The ermine smiles.
“Stop it. You have no right!”
“Are you upset?”
“I said stop!”
“It seems like you're hard pressed to keep grains of sand in your hands.”
"A mind- a mind deserves privacy!”
She stares at the water in the wash bin. Upper half of the ermine still smiling. It's entrails snake along against the wall like lichen.
“You’d do just as well to return to the shadows now. No one to impress.”
“I… I like… I like helping people.”
“Vomit over yourself then. Seize because you’re lonely. Children do the same. The lonely ones. They piss on themselves because they get so confused and distracted when playing with other kids that they forget basic needs.”
She stares at the mirror. The half ermine. The bright light supplanting her eye. Slams her palm against it. Doesn’t break.
Stands.
Takes bucket.
Unbolts door.