[ Shaken, laboured breathing wracks her body as she listens to him. Having seen him, in what she assumes to be a ghostly appearance, is jarring enough-- but to hear his voice so clearly in her ears is an entirely other matter! She actually whimpers in fear for her sanity.
It's one thing to be called insane, but to actually face the realisation that it may be true is an entirely different matter. Visions of things that aren't there could be attributed to the pain, the alcohol, the fatigue... murmurs of conversation could be the nights without sleep... not this. This is more real that she's used to. ]
N-no, she was--... [ Why is she talking back to it? Goodness, she's hopeless! ] No, nonono.......
[ Rolling over, she keeps the blanket draped over her head as she scoots along the floor, to swing the door closed. ]
Just ignore it... It will pass...
[ Collapsing back to the floor, she stays curled onto her side, closing her eyes to steady her breathing. She murmurs to herself. ]
What may this mean, that thou, dead corse, again, in complete steel, revisit'st thus the glimpses of the moon. Making night hideous; and we, fools of nature, so horridly to shake our disposition, with thoughts beyond the reaches of our souls? Say, why is this? . . .
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It's one thing to be called insane, but to actually face the realisation that it may be true is an entirely different matter. Visions of things that aren't there could be attributed to the pain, the alcohol, the fatigue... murmurs of conversation could be the nights without sleep... not this. This is more real that she's used to. ]
N-no, she was--... [ Why is she talking back to it? Goodness, she's hopeless! ] No, nonono.......
[ Rolling over, she keeps the blanket draped over her head as she scoots along the floor, to swing the door closed. ]
Just ignore it... It will pass...
[ Collapsing back to the floor, she stays curled onto her side, closing her eyes to steady her breathing. She murmurs to herself. ]
What may this mean, that thou, dead corse, again, in complete steel, revisit'st thus the glimpses of the moon. Making night hideous; and we, fools of nature, so horridly to shake our disposition, with thoughts beyond the reaches of our souls? Say, why is this? . . .