Whispers in Misty Reverie

Sixty years later,

Damien's family house,

Unha Valley.

One cut, second cut, third cut, fourth cut...

The paper blade danced across her wrist, each stroke deliberate and precise. Isla Damien watched as the thin line of red welled up, mingling with the older scars that criss crossed her skin. She pressed down again, feeling the skin yield under the blade, a sharp sting blossoming into a numbing throb.

It's hurting… Isla bit the inside of her cheek as the stinging sensation faded, replaced by a numb, almost comforting throb.

Closing her eyes, Isla let the tears cascade down her face. She peered down at her left wrist, starting to look like a twisted barcode. Each line, a story of a silent scream etched into her flesh with the dull ache of a paper blade.

She didn't cut for death; she sought euphoria.