the tower;

[Misery]

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The air was cold and burned the lungs when it was drawn in. Slow breaths were taken to stifle the pain, and a low noise of intense aggravation escaped her. The cold bit deeper into the bones the older she got. It settled in the joints and in her flesh with a deep and painful intensity. She wasn't ill &mdash just old and world weary. Bright gold green eyes searched the area around her as she walked, leaning heavily on her gleaming cane. Misery was lucky she hadn't lost or misplaced it yet, she had the most godawful habit of such behaviors. But it was hard to do otherwise. Her memory had never been perfect. Or even very good. Perhaps it was the madness, or the fact that Mum and Dad had shared more than a few chromosomes. The thought made her laugh, a harsh, barking sound in the darkness.


Even by the bare light of dawn, there was humor. Laughing at her own misfortune, at her own sickness. The sickness deep in her marrows, the sickness that sent neurons misfiring like a kid with an itchy trigger finger. Yellowing teeth curved into a smile as the werewolf wandered the lands of her less then beloved home. What else was there to do, truly? She had no love, no purpose anymore. It made her feel dull and mindless. One always needed a purpose. It had been ages since she had worth. But it could not be helped, this world needed no scheming Jester, and the Prince had found his place. A pity, truly it was.
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