The hour had grown late, and the bells for all Novices to be asleep had long since rung. There was a small window in the shared room, and weak moonlight slipped through it. It was just enough to see by, although concentration was required to make much in detail. It was just enough.OOC: TW for self-destructive/cutting behavior.
Isla couldn't sleep. She had started to sleep, but then awoke from a bad dream. Memories of her time as prisoner, rather than soldier, came to her in the night. Once she left that behind, sleep did not come again. Not easily, at least.
This was the time when the dark thoughts came. Once the initial shadow wormed its way into her mind, it consumed her...little by little, until there was nothing else she could think about. The thought would not be chased away until it was acted on. The longer she resisted, the more painful it became.
Finally, she couldn't hold back the tide.
Isla lifted her head and spied the next bed over, seeing that Nyaine was asleep. So she reached under the box under her bed, pulling out the knife she had stolen from the kitchen. With one more check on her roommate, she carefully and quietly pushed herself to a seat and rolled up her sleeve.
This was not the first time she'd done this, and she knew--with a sinking, sick feeling--that it wouldn't be the last.
Finding the familiar line of her half-wound/half-scar that would never heal, she placed the tip of the knife against it and moved the blade along the ragged line. She bit her lip against the sharp pain, but then the warm blood followed and she let out a long breath. Agony and relief mingled as she held her forearm straight, letting the blood pool on top.