Wallflower grit her teeth.
And marched away from the punch.
The hallway of muttering rooms whispered. She could hear the insanity trying to reach out. A crooked, red-stained nose hurt–badly. The shivering caused by the winter drafts of this dreary juvie did not help.
For one loaf of bread, those bastards in Canterlot's court system sentenced her to suffer for a year. Her body angrily quaked. She reached her cell. Just to rub salt in the wound, she wasn’t allowed visitors. Left to be forgotten by a rotten world
They weren’t technically cells, but potato potato. She’d just gotten her life back together thanks to Sunset. Wallflower strode to her sparse toiletry section. Yet, someone turned her in for a petty crime committed during her magical rampaging.
Eventually, she finished stuffing her nasal passages. So much for graduating normally. The sandpaper toilet paper itched despite doing its job. The mirror revealed her decrepit, depressed face. Two months in. And ten long ones to go.
She laughed at her disastrous condition. Bone-thin and always disheveled. Just a minor distraction when bored in the mandatory classes. Her health was a joke now. Her now dead garden used to be able could properly feed her.
The rusty sink creaked. Wallflower splashed a cold wave of relief over her half-bruised face. Drying it with her sleeves, she flopped across a filthy bed. The coiled springs squeaked. Decently comfortable for its appearance.
She could still hear the girls snickering.
She cried–truly, her life was hell.