Blackfeather Woods Bloody Mary, full of vodka, blessed are you amongst cocktails.

Her brain is overwhelmed. Poppy normally does not have this effect on the lupine body, but she has more than just an opiate addiction. Her mind is wired in strange ways that made her easily suceptible to sights, flashes from the Gods themselves that she was burdened with from birth. For a time in her youth the Night Mother Herself spoke to her, but she had squandered the blessing, and She had fell silent. But now, faced with the man who ruined her life, the brother who impregnanted her, her body weak and exhausted, her mind foggy, she snaps.

It is a soft one, a slow one, not sharp as if a dry twig had been stepped on. The struggles of her life had worn away at her slowly over the years, cracking the stone of her mind. The crevices had only increased over the past few moons, and now they fell away, all together, her mind crumbling under the weight. She sobs, as it is the only way her body can express the turmoil inside. She no longer protests her brother, merely laying there, her lungs raking and her face wet with tears. Pathetic.