[private]

Light didn't move for a couple of days, after that. Well, more or less. Sometimes one need or another would prod him towards the bathroom - water, or the toilet - and then he'd curl right back up beneath his quilt, and drift back off into sleep. The broken mirror gave him nightmares, and so did she.

By the time he'd drawn himself back together, blanket stitch around and around the edges, he was past feeling hungry, so he didn't bother with the kitchen. He didn't want to go out, anyway. He's dreamy and floaty, lying on or in the bed, leafing through books with pretty pictures or straightforward text. Sometimes he really, really feels he should eat something, like he might even die if he doesn't, but mostly he's - tingly; he's lost weight fast, four or five pounds, and his hair's a mess, and he's a mess. He's waiting, in truth, for the pieces to draw properly together.

Just at present, it's been a week, and he's lying in bed, tired and hollow, clad in little besides a black t-shirt, and watching the play of pinprick lights on the ceiling, the ones only he can see.

[[OOC: private to stripesandheels.]]