The smell of excrement hangs in the air. Particles, rushing to escape the confines of the blue room, fill my nostrils as they whir past.
There she lay. Unconscious. In a puddle of her own creation. The sheets soaked.
Standing at the threshold, I hesitate. Just a moment.
A moment of decision. Of indecision. Whether to back out slowly, pretend this never happened, close the door on the damp despair. To let sleeping dogs lie. Lead someone else to believe they happened upon this discovery first.
To find the strength. The fortitude. The stomach. The compassion or pity, even. To make this right. Dispose of the evidence. Erase this indiscretion. And the smell. From the blue room. From her body. From my memory.
And I step forward, to take on the task. I peel back the sheets, the clothes. And dress her in dignity, relentless love and clean princess panties.
I love you no matter what,