It must have taken courage to fight the way she had; the problem with fighting yourself is that you’ll always end up losing broken glass littered the floor of the hotel balcony crunching underfoot and leaving specks of blood on the railing where she leapt
And she did leap, that was certain there was no one else around and that was the issue there wasn’t a note to be found the front door left open a crack so that a curious soul might put two and two together and realize that the body which had plummeted eleven stories was the one that belonged to this room of things her story eternally tied to a ratty armchair and a kitchen full of unsolved problems
Upon closer inspection, the only thing out of place in the whole situation was her face, covered in paint not the kind you’d redo your living room in but rather the apache kind designed to strike fear into the enemy in war broad white and red bars emblazoned across her cheeks and forehead a simple reminder of her ferocity in life