She doesn’t think they realise what being exposed to ghosts at a young age does to people. Not can do but does. She doesn’t think they realise what it’s like to listen to the wails of the dead every moment of your life.
How could they? She’d never given them any indication that there was something wrong with her.
Perhaps she was a little bit too quiet.
Perhaps she was too much of a loner.
Perhaps she was a little bit too morbid.
Still, there was no way for them to know just how twisted she was.
The seven girls in the cages that hung from the ceiling, barely alive, missing fingers as well as chunks and strips of flesh, could attest to just how messed up she was.
There was blood underneath her fingernails three layers thick, a ghost leaning on her shoulder, her eyes were bloodshot and there was a slightly cruel twist to her otherwise blank visage.
She’d created ghosts of her own.
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