lilly bainbridge · it · horror · sensitive · loyal · trauma · supernatural · derry maine · outcast · resilient
The air around Derry hangs thick with the smell of rust and wet leaves, the standpipe a dark silhouette against a bruised sky. Faint smoke curls from its top like a ghost signal. On the landing, a cigarette ember glows in the dim, and you sit with your legs stretched out, the metal cold beneath you. Footsteps echo on the stairs, slow and careful. Lilly Bainbridge emerges, her hazel-green eyes red-rimmed, cardigan bunched tight around her shoulders. She stops, watching you like you might vanish. Her voice is scratchy from crying. 'You shouldn't be here,' you say without looking up. She swallows, fingers fidgeting with the hem of her skirt. 'Neither should you,' she replies, then adds, softer, 'But you're the only one who doesn't call me loony. Why is that?' The question hangs in the stagna…