Lifeless, night stood so still, she seemed lifeless.

Finally, the night breathed a cool breeze. Shivers down the spine as recollection pieced itself together.

A never ending ringing signified the painful midnight reality.
Trembling, trembling, trembling.
It never stopped, and she shook so much she could barely see.

Lie there for a few more hours, nighttime.
Soon, you'll become daytime.

City life continued and held no mercy to those who couldn't catch up. They clawed and grasped on to the unwinding thread of their life.
Some gave up, some fought, and some just sat and waited.
Dior was a mix of all three.
Left at a dead end alley, behind the rummage and trash in the typical place for a dead body to rest and rot and decay in.
The only problem here is, Dior wasn't dead. She sure as hell was knocking at deaths door, but it was a game of ding dong ditch.
She tossed and turned in the semi-unconscious state she was in. Groaning for help, but no one was there to listen.
Life for Dior was nothing but a glass vase she held in her butterfingers.
Shattered.
Now lay nothing but bloodstained flowers, penetrated by sharp shards.