Work Text:
When she raised her gaze, there was a faraway look in her eyes. When she moved, it was always lethargic. When she spoke, her voice never went above a whisper.
Maggie looked at herself in the mirror. Someone else stared back at her. Her hair was limp, her skin was stitched.
If the doctor was to be trusted, she used to be someone. A woman of beliefs and convictions. A wife. A mother.
A rube suckered by religion. A terrible mother. A horrible wife.
As Maggie stared further, she found it hard to believe she had been anything at all.
