There is an ugly mark upon the very ugly flesh of her human body. It sits harmlessly on her hip, and it's easily hidden once she's dressed. But she knows that it's there and knowing that it's there makes her itchy. They told her, three days ago, that this made her a Niez and she hadn't liked it one bit. She knows what she is, now, and it certainly isn't a Niez. Yet the mark persists and she wakes in the uncomfortable busyness of the boarding house each morning, awakes with all this noise in her head and finds herself very cross about it all.

She's very good about not screaming. She wants to scream a lot. She wants to scream out loud more than she would like to scream at the very loud and very annoying voices that filter through her head, but she keeps it to herself. Distantly, she thinks that the people she once thought she loved would be very proud of her for that. Less distantly, she thinks John would like that a lot too. She has mixed feelings about the last one.

On the fourth day she goes to the festival because that's where all the noise is directing her. She doesn't dress particularly as though she's ready for a festival, really. There is a top, and there are trousers - on her feet, despite her very large and present dislike to wear them - are a pair of boots, each on the correct foot. Her hair is tied haphazardly atop her hair, and she thinks, when she glances at herself in the mirror, that the blond of it all is so ghastly on her. She misses her dark hair terribly. She misses the soft silk that had been Harrowhark's beautiful, beautiful hair. Each time she sees herself she thinks she ought to stab John again and again for making her this. Pale; blond; doll-like; really and truly very ugly.

Her mood doesn't improve by the time she's in thoroughfare; someone tries to put a collar on her and she bites, furiously, and hisses: "Off!" In the middle of them trying to appeal to her to stop biting please, she turns to you and bares her teeth, and says: "If you touch me, I will chew your whole arm off! I will!" And she will.

-

Once the drama is over with and she has, very miserably, been convinced to wear a wrist collar, she wanders straight out to the stalls. The food holds no appeal to her, even the cookies. She drifts to the toys after this, and finds herself much more interested in the stranger dildos, the paddles, and the anal beads.

The latter of which she holds in her hands, the beads huge by comparison. Awed, she murmurs: "How does it fit?" And, to the tentacle shaped glass dildos, whispers, a little sadly: "Oh, there used to be so many of these inside of me. So many. They're all dead now, you know."

Before all of that, on the first day, she is guided to the boarding house dressed in a shift, a jumper, and someone's very tattered shoes. She quite likes them. The sweater is very itchy, however, and upon finding a room with a bed that is unoccupied, she takes the sweater off in a flurry and says: "Phew!"

The second thing she says, upon flinging herself upon the bed after it, is: "They said I had to find a room. I'll be sleeping here," and that's really that. No if's, no but's, this is hers now. "Please don't snore. I think I'll be really upset if you snore."

PLEASE. STOP. TALKING. IN. MY HEAD!!! I. REALLY. DO !!!NOT!!! LIKE. IT.

THANK YOU

- MARGOT ROBBIE xxxxx

PS WHOEVER KEEPS HAVING VERY LOUD SEX JUST NOW, STOP THAT. YOU SOUND VERY BAD AT IT.