Jeanne had her face buried in her hands, trying to ignore the mutterings of the mouths slowly growing on her skin. She’d tried to cover them up with bandages, but they’d chewed up and out of them.

“Pourquoi… pourquoi, mon Dieu, qu’ai-je fait? What did I even do to deserve this?” (Why…Why, God, what did I do?)

She turned her head towards the door, eyes pitiful and tired.