LILY
Fools, she hisses to herself, staring at the Roses with an ugly snarl across her face and rancid, heavy breath. It comes hot and heavy, steaming through the air as the ragged, fiery woman stands out in the cold she so loathes, in little more than breeches and a sweater. At least she’d had the sanity before she completely devolved to put that extra layer on. Her head tilts eerily to one side as dirty nails begin to comb hair that is slowly turning into a windswept rat’s nest. She hums to herself, a haunting and eerie little ditty that goes round and round and round - the same notes, over and over again. If there’s a plan forming in that empty little head of hers, no one will know. But Lily smiles sweetly (is it, though?) and then turns away - gaze far away and mind easily elsewhere.
“Ring around the rosy…
Pocket full of posy…
Ashes, ashes
We all…
Fall… down.”
Roses to ashes. Roses to ashes. They’ll all fall down. There’s a sudden, gleeful cackle and the former entertainer darts towards the roses, rips one out of the ground, and then scampers into the woods.
don't know if you love me or you want me dead
the way you're looking through my eyes
Don't know if I'm gonna make it out alive
