A tiny scratching sound at the window caused the young witch’s eyes to open, but it took another minute of continued scratching before she dragged herself from the bed to the window to discover its source. Just outside the glass, perched on the ledge with one little claw against the window sat Belladonna’s pet zombie-squirrel, a gray acorn clutched in its other paw.
“Oh Galahad… I thought I told you to stay inside…” Belladonna mumbled, her voice subdued and slightly hollow sounding. The zombie-squirrel did not hiss at her as he usually would have when she opened the window, but it instead blinked at her once, shuffled inside until she had closed the window and scampered to her closet. On a normal day the witch might have followed him to ask why he had not been affectionate toward her, but now that normal was not much of anything, Belladonna did not question it but instead slunk back into her bed.
It was well after noon, but the witch pulled the blanket high up over her head, hiding in its stifled warmth even though she wasn’t tired. Pink eyes sat open and staring into the filtered darkness under her covers and found no answers to the questions she had ceased asking. Was it Webday or Curseday? She couldn’t remember, but she did wonder where Binx was. He was not in his usual curled up state next to her, nor was he sitting upon her desk, a fresh lecture pouring from his kitty-mouth and she didn’t think he was out on a supplies run, but Belladonna wasn’t worried. Where as he used to inhabit her room constantly, now that the tables had been turned and she didn’t leave, he was almost always away on some mission or another. It didn’t help that Belladonna had taken to sleeping most of the day, so she didn’t always see the cat when he was there, but that seemed a moot point to the witch.
After another few minutes of not really thinking, Belladonna uncovered herself and sat up in her bed. Months holed up in her room had really improved the quality of her cleanliness, for not a thing was out of place. All her boxes had been unpacked, her desk was straightened and free of clutter and she had even managed to find the time to organize her bookshelf between moping and crying. But all of that did nothing to improve her lack of mood. Just because her cleanliness had gone up didn’t mean her personality had improved. In fact, it had morphed into a tiny shade of itself. The exuberance for life was gone, the cheer and joy vanished, the excitement over everything had simply disappeared. It was something Belladonna tried not to think too hard on, for it was unsettling so instead she crawled from her bed.
Stockinged feet hit the wooden floor and took her to her dresser where Belladonna grabbed a new outfit (a large hoodie, bloomers, new socks and underwear), which was also another thing that had suffered from her months of depression. Gone were the days of high fashion, care for her appearance and need to constantly create her own wardrobe. Now the only thing Belladonna did regarding her former ways was to occasionally grab her sewing needles and p***k her fingers so that she could see the blood and decide she was still alive.
All these thoughts still swirled in her mind, but Belladonna shut them down and shuffled over to her door, a small basket in her hand that held her change of clothes, as well as the necessary showering products. For a long minute she stood by the door, one hand poised over the handle as she listened for sounds in the hall. It was the middle of the day, so all the other reapers should be in class which was the perfect time for a dash to the showers. But because it was the middle of the day it meant that everyone else was at least awake, so there was danger of being seen in that.
After another long moment of silence, the witch threw open her door and flung herself down the hall. That is, she would have if she hadn’t tripped over something placed just outside her door. With a loud screech akin to her former days, Belladonna lurched forward and landed heavily on the floor, face down with her red hair splayed around her. For a long time she just sat there, quietly mumbling to herself and glad no one was around to see or hear her.
“Pain, it hurts, ow. Ow, it hurts, I’m alive. It hurts, I’m alive. Alive.” She breathed the last word, as if grateful for it and after the pain dulled she sat up. The thing that had tripped her patiently waited under her foot so the witch obliged it by picking it up to inspect its traitorous ways.
It wasn’t anything special, just a small hardback book that appeared to be the school year book. There was a brightly colored slip of paper peeking out about half way through and a spark of curiosity caused Belladonna to open it. The glossy page held four lines of brightly smiling faces, along with an occasional sneer. Upon closer inspection they turned into the faces of classmates Belladonna had been formerly familiar with. They all looked older than she remembered them and when she read the heading she understood.
“Year Two… Oh.” She mumbled, bruised fingertips brushing over the bold words above all the faces. She quickly noticed it was the second page of names and flipped over to the first, her pink eyes scanning it for one person in particular. Her answer was quickly found near the top, a gray box staring up at her with the inscription:
Belladonna Divine
Picture not taken
“Oh.” She mumbled again, disappointed that no one had bothered to ask her if she wanted her picture taken. She would have refused, but the thought would have been nice.
Without any sort of fuss she slid the book into her room, closed the door and scurried down the hall for her shower. It would be quick and she might cry during it, but it would be better than nothing. After all her time holed up in her room in fear, she might as well be dead.
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