River had tried to sleep. She certainly [i]felt[/i] exhausted. After the run, and the fight, and everything else that had happened this night. Her muscles ached and joints cried, yet, she kept waking right up. Whatever White had given her must have also been a stimulant. She would begin to doze off, then suddenly jolt up in bed, eyes wide open, heart beating fast.

She gave up and moved to the common room. She was the only one there, the other students were still out and about for their Samhain Shenanigans. She settled on a large armchair by the hearth, Pablo curled up on her lap and she opened a book of poetry. Something different than her usual literary fare, something Danish:

[i]A bit beyond perception's reach
I sometimes believe I see
that Life is two locked boxes, each
containing the other's key.[/i]

She imagined that her friends were still out and about, having a grand old time. She didn’t clearly remember the moment she left their company. Had she excused herself first? Or had they gotten separated in the wild throng of people? She was unsure.

[i]Problems worthy
 of attack
prove their worth
 by hitting back.[/i]

Then there was Jack to think about. She still could not believe what had happened. She could still feel the shock of waking up with [i]him[/i] sitting next to her. She remembered countless little instances where her companions and Jack had... their conflicts. She herself had cursed him in her native tongue. She remembered that part through a haze, screaming at him. Or was that a dream? Did her makeup run down her face? In her minds eye it did, she invented the memory for herself with her cheeks dripping black and white paint, she looked monstrous and huge. Yet, he had saved her life. He had exposed his magic to muggles and gotten punished for it. He had even walked her back to Terra house. (The Ignus had been turned away at the door.) She found herself thinking of much differently now. [i]'He isn't so bad after all… in fact… he had been quite brave and selfless…'[/i] She found herself thinking things she never imagined she’d think about Jack Hale; [i]'Brave... selfless… admirable… maybe... possibly... a little... bit... handsome… [/i] 

Maybe she was still chemically imbalanced.

[i]The universe may be as great as they say.
But it wouldn't be missed if it didn't exist.[/i]

She had showered and scrubbed off all her makeup, discarded her gown, lace, and hairpins all. Earlier tonight she had felt like a queen, then she became a monster… then died… almost… and now… Ocllo was nearly back to ‘normal.’ She was barefoot, and wore a green sleeved shirt, soft plaid pajama pants, and a new charm tied round her neck. She felt it’s weight reassuringly where it settled against her breastbone. Her hair was un-braided, it lay loose and around her shoulders, nearly long enough to touch her elbows. 

She fell asleep then, her head rolled to one side of the armchair. Her face would look a bit thinner than usual, with dark circles under her eyes and a sligtly pallid hue, but that effect might be erased by the firelight warming her ocher skin, while her freshly washed hair shined in that same light. Pablo curled up on one of her legs, he lifted his head to peer at Addie as he entered the common room. Her book lay open on the armchair, revealing the poetry of Piet Hien:

[i]Losing one glove
is certainly painful,
but nothing
compared to the pain,
of losing one,
throwing away the other,
and finding
the first one again. [/i]