each moment she found enough solace to slip off into deep
               unconsciousness, the night terrors of her purgatory would arrive with a
             vengeance. razored talons of her demons clawing, scratching, gnawing at
               her being, jolting her awake with a silent scream, destruction wrought
                                              by the magic staining her veins. 

                                                    how many mirrors has she replaced now ?  
                                           inconspicuously, not to worry the Original at her side.
                                      but as exhaustion settled into her visage & her consumption
                                           of wine increased exponentially, he was sure to notice.  

                            ❛ there’s not enough wine in the world
                                               to force me into a coma. ❜