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Josephine diligently rubs at her hands with a cloth, determined to banish the stubborn stains that cling to her skin.
With the bathroom door ajar, she keeps a watchful eye on Regulus, ready to spring into action if he stirs.
Lost in her task, Josie's gaze fixates on her hands as she vigorously works the cloth back and forth, desperate to erase any trace of color.
Cleanliness becomes her obsession; she yearns for the purity it promises, a fleeting escape from the weight of guilt that burdens her soul.
Taking a deep breath, Josephine wills herself to focus on the present, to push aside her own turmoil for the sake of Regulus.
As the water faucet clicks off, she inspects her hands, unsure if the stains have vanished or if her efforts have left them raw and red.
The visceral discomfort of her own guilt gnaws at her, an ever-present reminder of past transgressions.
She ponders the nature of guilt, questioning if absolution is even attainable, or if it is merely a specter that haunts every conscience.
Quickly drying her hands, Josie emerges from the bathroom, exhaling a sigh of relief as she settles back onto the sofa, her gaze never straying from Regulus's slumbering form.
Though his physical wounds are mostly healed, the scars of the torture curse run deep, their pain insidious and unseen.
She ponders the enigma of the curse, its details shrouded in mystery, leaving her to wonder about the agony it inflicts.
Josie's heart brims with resentment towards Regulus's parents, unable to fathom the cruelty of anyone who would harm him. Yet, she acknowledges her own past role in that cycle, albeit for what she deems justifiable reasons.
The notion of parental love and protection feels tainted by Fleamont's betrayal, his actions leaving scars that run deeper than any physical wound. In Regulus's case, the pain is twofold, a combination of physical and emotional trauma.
Josephine harbors a silent hope of one day confronting Regulus's parents, holding them accountable for their part in his suffering. Regardless of the division of responsibility, they both bear guilt in her eyes, and she feels no guilt about seeking justice on his behalf.
Her reverie is interrupted by Regulus's murmurs, his awakening marked by a palpable sense of distress as he scans his unfamiliar surroundings.
"Good morning," she greets softly, rising from the sofa with concern etched upon her features. "Are you alright?"
Regulus's response is a hesitant nod, though the rapid rhythm of his breath betrays his inner turmoil.
Her gaze narrows, considering the possibility of a nightmare or the disorientation of waking in a new environment.
