[rewritten ver. of unscripted]
we don't live in a fairytale.
but she was everything the fairytales failed to mention.
like icarus, he was destined to fly too close to the sun.
and fall. maddeningly. deeply. in love.
- neil still does not die in this...
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PRESLEY'S HEAD POUNDEDas her ears rang a thin tinnitus from the painful migraine. Scrambling to her medicine cabinet, she struggled to find painkillers her fellow doctor had prescribed to her, as well as her container of tangerines. As soon as she found her medicine bottles, she retrieved one pill from each, and gulped it down with a glass of water. Sighing in exasperation, she harshly set the glass down on her mahogany table, as her other hand gripped the wood, so tight her knuckles turned pale as she gasped out for breath.
The ringing in her ears still didn't seem to stop, her skin crawling as if there'd been an itch just below the surface. She scrambled for her container of tangerines, popping one into her mouth as her teeth sunk into the ripe, juicy fruit. After a few moments of her breathing heavily, the pain seemed to subside, relief flooding her seses as she closed her eyes tightly, regaining her composure.
Plopping down on the bed, she rested her head on the wall, trying her best to calm her breaths. She had just barely escaped from a hungry wraith threatening to kill her (and Neil Perry), then she had to have an attack right after she settled in her quarters.
At the back of her mind, she hoped Neil was alright, with no memory of what happened in the library.
Not long thereafter, a knock sounded on the door, which made Presley grunt in distaste. At least they didn't knock when she was preoccupied. "Come in." She called out.
Mr. Keating opened the door, closing it behind him as he looked at Presley with a disapproving look on his face. "Presley, no." The girl scoffed upon his warning, sinking deeper on the bed until she was laying on it.
"I'm not a dog, John, don't order me around like that." She groaned, eyes remaining on the ceiling. Skipping meals was very common for Presley. It wasn't that she had an eating disorder, she just didn't want to associate herself with people, as it was usually mealtime when people would converse with one another. That, and something else.
She didn't want to have to collide gazes with a certain brown-eyed golden boy, but fate just had to be a bitch.
"Didn't I tell you to stop skipping your meals? It's an unhealthy habit and I don't want you to go around looking all starved." Mr. Keating reprimanded her, sitting down on the bed beside Presley.
"Old habits die hard, Captain." Presley murmured. Contrary to how she appeared in public, Presley preferred her moments of solitude more than having to talk about the weather with pretentious fucks who did everything to impress higher society just so they could fit in. Though, in this case, she would welcome the loneliness rather than having to sit through a dining hall full of men, and boys.
"Oh, don't flatter me with that nickname." Mr. Keating said. Presley looked up at the professor, consequently sitting up to try and change the topic.
