( well this is an absolute nightmare.

Grace is not enjoying the stupid mask pressed against her face. does it have a unicorn horn??? maybe! that's small change compared to the other issue she's experiencing, though. it's sort of fuzzy how she got into it, but she is not emotionally capable of being in another white dress right now. so she is trying to tear her way out of it, skin crawling. huffing and growling and crying, she probably comes across more rabid than human. but it's not working, because she's laced into it like it's a straight jacket. it certainly feels like one. )

Fuck! ( she shouts it, no hint of shame. nope, she'll bellow that shit mid masquerade with her whole fucking chest. her vibes are really not great, egregore wise; making everyone feel the same tight lack of oxygen, skin crawling misery and vibrant terror. but she's new, it's not like she knows!

she's been struggling with it for god knows how long, leaving the dress half torn and sagging in places, but ripping it off her body like she's in a steamy romance novel is a lot harder than corset rippers would have you believe. and she's desperate, fumbling to whoever is nearby, begging through snotty tears. ) Please, please please. ( get her out of this far too wedding adjacent dress. she would actually, genuinely, rather be naked. )

( is she at this shindig in a slip now? you bet your ass she is. but since it's slippery silk, bone colored over pure virginal white, and barely long enough to cover her buttcheeks — it does not read virginal bride. so she's feeling a little better. well, better is a weird word for how she's feeling. she is pretty sure she's having a psychotic break, and that's definitely not good. but since it's a new flavor of psychosis, and there are no murderous inlaws involved in it, she's kinda vibing rn.

banquet hall. she's mostly here just to watch. perching on the arm of a chair with her feet on the seat like nobody taught her how to sit like a reasonable human being. she tilts an airy, weirded out laugh when someone tries to feed her grapes. and when she realizes someone is laid out on the table instead of a platter, the laugh gets less airy and more weirded out. )

You look like Kim Catrall in the Sex in the City movie, ( she stage whispers to the serving dish, because what else do you say in this situation. )

velvet parlor. now she's not a prude. it's fine that all these medieval people are group fucking. she stays by the door, though. just watching. taking it in. mentally archiving the batshit insanity. part of her is all-too-aware that the last cock she had inside her was her shitty fucking husband that tried to kill her with his entire shitty fucking family. there's a liiiiiiitle tiny voice in her head that insists she tag in, get in there, and run this pussy ragged just to spite him.

the rest of her is pretty certain her pussy is closed for business. if not eternally, at least until she forgets what it was like to take bloody face shots after Alex exploded all over her. so safe to say, might be awhile.

she's not expecting to be perceived while she's perceiving. so when she notices someone nearby, she jumpscares. full body startles. doll eyes so wide and bugged it looks painful. there's a long beat that makes the vibe seem like she's in fight or flight and she's gonna pick fight and you might wanna be prepared for that. but she slowly settles, laughs loudly and awkwardly. ) Wow. Sorry. Am I in the way? You trying to get in there, slugger? ( she says, and then laughs again, because really. what the fuck is going on right now. )

long gallery. Grace isn't really that interested in the sporty displays. moreso the sharps they just left out, for anybody to take. ostensibly for target practice, or the freaky stab each other for fun bout that's going on over there. but she's just feeling like she would really feel better if she had something stabby on her right about now. just in case.

she's trying to tuck a handle in the waistband of her underwear when she realizes someone is definitely staring. ) Oh. ( she grabs another knife and points it, with intent. eyes wide and smile a little scary. ) How about you go stare at somebody else, fuckface.

( yeah, she should have seen this coming. white sacrificial dress, all the weird vibes, her history of being hunted for sport??? like actually, she's kind of mad at herself, how stupidly she was going along with it all. again. dumb!!! so dumb. and not even with the excuse of wanting to make nice with her new family this time, either! it's shameful. embarrassing! there's gonna be a whole lot of new trauma to unpack about this later.

she's not going to be an easy mark, though. she is fighting, tooth and nail, kicking and kneeing and punching and scratching, screaming all the while. when someone is foolish enough to seize her, she bites. was it throat, or arm, or an ear? who knows, but there's blood everywhere, and the look on her face says she would definitely do it again. )

Back the fuck up! ( she shrieks, to whoever feels too close, knife point raised. if she cut herself retrieving her secret knife, she really does not give a shit. she got it and she's pointing it and she WILL use it if she has to. )

undercroft. she fought, and fought hard, but it wasn't enough. she landed down here anyway. like a box of rocks, too. she scrabbles slowly to her knees, sobbing, blood streaming down from her nose. did she break it in her landing? fucking ow. her knee pulses like a heartbeat, she's down her knife, but she's still alive. somehow.

she scrubs her hand under her nose, which really just scrubs the blood all over her. she wants to run, even gets half up to bolt, but another battered body spread over the stones makes her hesitate. it's a weird twist to not be the only sacrificial lamb — and the thought of Daniel choking up blood under her hands makes a stab of guilt tear through her. so she crawls over on bruised knees, checking for a pulse, breath, anything really. ) Hey. Hey, stay with me.