I push off the basin and through the throng of condemning Unfortunates. I rush up the stairs and through the laundry folding area, trying my hardest to keep in the tsunami of emotion. I barely know the Unfortunates—any Unfortunate, really—but we're all connected through our circumstances, upbringing, social standing, and suffering. To be shunned and removed from the collective experience as if my suffering no longer matters… it hurts.
In a blur, I escape the manor and run. I run through the garden, trampling flowers under my feet, snapping jutting twigs with my elbows. I sprint through the paddock, uncaring about the shrill siren wail that comes on suddenly and pierces my skull, uncaring about the rumble of dogs barking.