Chapter Two: Silvery Angel
Fowlie blinked, her face stained with tears. She was sprawled out on the purple couch again. She sat up, began counting to five, wildly gazing around the room. The curtains and couches and pillows did nothing to soften the hard concrete look of the place. No matter what she did, it would still be a prison.
Her palace, was now her prison.
“You have hurt her!” whispered a weary voice, somehow older and kinder and sadder than anything Fowlie had ever heard in her life pervaded the air, “You may redeem yourself, let me take over…and I shall heal anything you have destroyed. Even her. Especially her.”
“Go,” Fowlie said, collapsing back into the sofa, retreating withing herself to count her sanity away.