FIFTY-THREE

                                    

                                          
❝'CAUSE I WOULD RATHER DIE
THAN FEELING THIS INSIDE❞
CHARLIE PUTH, KISS ME BEFORE I FUCKING LOSE MY MIND



Waking up could only be described using one adjective; ghastly. It was plain and simple. Lorelei hadn't moved for a long time since waking up, her body still curled above the sheets in the position she had moved into during her slumber. No care was held for the scare she had given anyone within the castle, only a numbing twinge of death painting over her vitality.
Her purse ran through her body, the noise circling her ears as she laid still in defeat. Her organs were working, it felt like a betrayal. 
She was exhausted from the second her eyes opened. Her white tears stained her cheeks in its usual routine before she would wipe them away while getting ready for her run. Not today. She had no energy to move. Her nightmares, terrible, but she had grown accustomed to them over the years. The running helped. It wouldn't today.
It was atypical for her to abandon that daily routine. Unless, of course, it was a certain day with- Sunday mornings. Sunday. Today marked the first Sunday she had remained still in six months. A first Sunday without Jason. The tears dropped effortlessly, mixing with the white liquid previously poured.
There was too much to process - too much to feel.
Her nightmare had changed. It was the only thing convincing her that this was reality, Jason's death wasn't an illusion. Because despite it all, the near experiences, it didn't haunt her slumber. This time it did. Last night it did. The death, the pain, a repeated cycle for however many hours Lorelei was trapped in the sight. She didn't bother to check the time when she woke.
The details were blurred, she didn't know what truly happened. But the sight, that she was sure was nothing in comparison to reality, was enough for her to taste acid burning in her throat with the churn of her stomach sparking under her skin. His face, the defined jaw Lorelei found herself nuzzled under most Sunday mornings and eyes so blue it felt oceanic and calming, twisting in an torment and fear as blood trickled everywhere. 
One thing remained the same within her nightmares. 
It was a face she didn't need to see. She didn't see. Everything around Jason was black, his body floating in an abyss with a certain harshness of torture that Lorelei could only pray on that stupid fucking (un)lucky star of hers that Jason wasn't suffering anymore.
A faceless clown in a dream could mean many things. 
A faceless person within a dream could mean many things. Someone might not want you to see them or they might not want to see you. Or, the likely hidden meaning between her dream, a meeting of a ghost. And, well, Jason was dying so all arrows pointed there.
A clown can be more difficult to decipher; there were many paths to take. Clowns, in their core, are to be humorous and spread joy. Clowns can be fucking foolish. They become an avoidance of your true feelings, usually a type of pain and difficult situation you don't want to acknowledge. But was this fool reversed? Was Lorelei the fool?
It didn't matter in the end, she didn't see the clown or its faceless face or if it was upright or reversed. She heard it. The punchline of her haunting nightmare being the Clown himself. The Prince of Crime, glitzed and dazzled with the thirst for certain red liquids and haphazard chaos. 
Emotionally and physically - Lorelei was exhausted. In all her hours spent with that fucking Clown, she had never felt this weak. The young mage had spent many, many different occasions feeling weak over the course of four years. From weather, to lack of food, dehydration, fear, torture, blood loss, it was another endless list. And yet this topped them all.