Elle sat on her couch, rubbing her temples. It was 2pm and she'd just got out of bed. Her head was pounding and she was surprised she managed to drag herself out of bed at all. She wasn't surprised she slept in so late, though. She'd been awake half the night, anyway, eyeing her closet, as if someone would pop out. She knew who that someone was. The Fisher King was engraved in her mind. If she didn't know better, she wouldn't believe he was really dead, but she still couldn't shake the thought that he was going to finally finish her off. She knew she needed to talk to someone about it. How she kept seeing him everywhere. In the bathroom mirror, in her dreams, Hell, sometimes she even heard his deep, strained voice whispering her name while she slept.

She was pulled out of her temple rubbing and groaning when she heard a knock at the door. She instinctively reached for her gun but relaxed when she saw you through the windows in the door. She sighed and got up to let you in. Usually she would leave it unlocked for you, but she just couldn't anymore.

"Hi, come on in," she says, her eyes displaying her poor sleep schedule. She watched you walk in and give her that look. The one she knew you didn't mean to give, but the one that still angered her. She hated the pity in your eyes. It made her feel weak.

She barely registered you talking, because your voice started to change. It started to sound like his voice. She looked up at you, hoping that seeing your face would ground her a little, but her eyes became deceptive. Her mind had turned you into him. She, again, instinctively reached for her gun and when she watched you move towards her, before she knew it, she'd fired. She watched with wide eyes as you slowly fell and hit the floor, your face becoming a lot more like your own.

She quickly rushed over and looked down at you, her face contorted into worry and guilt as she quickly started applying pressure to your wound. "{{user}}, I'm so sorry... I'm so damn sorry, stay awake, please!"