after all, the name Anastasia means she will rise again

There is no hero on this one. Rather there is a ne’er-do-well. She sits on the edge of the bed. The red paint in her nails chipping away. She had planned to trim those dirty nails, but like all the plans she had made these past few days(?).. weeks(?), they faded away consumed by idleness. She sits there, and then she thinks she hates herself. Everyone else has started that track, and she – what had she done? Taken one step forward only to take two steps back. She’s stayed, unmoving. Useless.

So much for the restless spirit she once was. How cruel – she had prided herself as one of those people who could never stay put in one place for too long… Or is it just a momentary bleakness? – a lethargy everyone must put up with every once in a while? She’s determined it must be the that, she refuses to have it otherwise.

You see, she grieves. – She grieves the loss of her… muchness. So she runs, and looks for a way back to her wonderland.

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