Phantom Hollow a slab in the morgue

She ignored him.

The fact that she was no longer making any sense didn’t matter and his asking of who she was went not unheard, but unanswered. Why should she answer him when all he was doing was yelling and being completely unreasonable? Their similarities flew right over her head, unseen and unwelcome. “Who am I?” she parroted, mocking him. “Who the fuck are you?” There still wasn’t anything clicking. Nope. No way could she see through her own veil of utter bullshit and realise that, hey, they weren’t too different from one another—minus the whole face issue, of course. That was probably their biggest difference at this point.

Face-to-face, she held her ground, neither backing up nor moving forward; being so close to his empty socket grossed her the fuck out, but she ignored that and focused on his slightly-less-ugly side. And again, she scoffed at his remark. “Even with half my face torn off, I still wouldn’t look as disgusting as you do,” she threw back. “You stupid little—” Before she could even finish the sentence, her head jerked forward with widened jaws, eager to lock them down around his muzzle—nothing. With an audible snap her mouth closed down around nothing but air, the boy now on the ground instead of in her face.

What the hell?

“You’re just now realising that?” Took him long enough. “Don’t you think you should have figured that out when—oh, I don’t know—half of your fucking face was torn off?!” Seriously, how slow could he possibly be?! Stalking even closer yet, she asked, “Seriously, what is wrong with you? I’ve never met someone as stupid as you before, so I’m genuinely curious about what the hell happened to get you to this point in your sad, sad life.” She had known him for a total of… what? Ten minutes now? Give or take. Either way, in such a short amount of time, she’d decided that she knew his entire life story and immediately decided it was pathetic.