Blackout - A She-Mask Story
For nearly three hours, Lucy sat on the floor of her small, dingy bathroom, naked as the day she was born. Her arms were wrapped tightly around her shins, pulling her knees into her breasts, while her feet sat flat and shivering on the cold, clammy tile. The tub’s slick fiberglass dug into her back, and behind her, a thunderous cascade of water sputtered continuously from the shower head, thickening the air with moisture. A moisture which fed the clusters of mold which had been allowed to grow unabated on the shower curtain and walls. That was fine, though. All of it was fine. In fact, she wanted it. Every morsel. Sights. Sounds. Smells. Pain. Whatever she could scrounge to distract herself from the thing on the floor across from her. She tried not to look at it. The mask hewn from polished driftwood. It took every ounce of her willpower to fix her gaze on literally anything else. A specific tile, the calcium-caked pipe under the sink. Still, the hunger always won. Her sight would drif...