Work Text:
Powder stood in front of her reflection in the mirror with a blank expression, moreso spacing out at herself than actually observing. She already knew what she looked like anyways. Her hair was a frizzy and tangled mess, her dark circles were so deeply dramatic that they almost looked painted on, and her skin resembled death with how dull and pale her complexion was.
In other words, she looked like shit.
It’s not on purpose that things turned out this way. She isn’t purposely neglecting taking care of herself, she just... can’t seem to find the energy to do anything about it. In all the places motivation and determination should be, she’s simply left with nothing but exhaustion. There’s no will for anything.
And now, she’s overwhelmed by nausea that she knows is from lack of eating, but how is she supposed to eat anything when she’s feeling so nauseous? If she tries to force it, she just feels worse. Putting in effort only makes her more sick.
Most days, she feels like her life has long since ended, but her heart stubbornly keeps on beating like it didn’t get the memo. Or maybe it did, and it just ignored it. It always seems to do its own thing anyway. Powder can’t find it within herself to feel any special sort of way about that. It’s hard to care at all, for anything.
But then Vi comes over, and her voice is so soft and loving when she’s telling Powder that it’s important to eat, important to bathe, important to brush your hair, and blah blah blah. It soon turns into static crackling in her ears, and she can’t process any of the words anymore. But it feels nice when Vi gently combs out the rat nest on her head and massages shampoo into her scalp, running over it with warm water that washes down her back, chest, and arms.
She wishes Vi could stay here, with her. Or that she could go with Vi. She hates always being alone. She misses her sister.
Tears are falling from her eyes before she even realizes what’s happening, and a hand that’s much bigger than her own carefully wipes them away.
“Oh, Powder...”
She wants to speak up, wants to actually say something for once, but she can’t. Emotion constricts her throat, choking her on whatever words may try to escape. It’s useless.
And in what felt like a single breath, it’s all gone. Vi is gone. The warmth is gone. The tears are gone. The words are gone. The feelings are gone.
She’s back to nothing.
And she can’t seem to care.