GShe stomped up the stairs once more, laden with two boxes that barely allowed her to see over the top of them. Every step she felt first with her foot before placing weight on it, relying more on her feline balance than she often did to reach the third floor. Her breath was more labored than she would have liked as she walked down the hallway, arms shaking slightly under the weight but she was unwilling to put the boxes down until she reached the shabby door that had the apartment number nailed to its exterior. It wasn't the one she had rented before, and a part of her lamented the shabby-chic furniture she had collected and decorated it with over time. No doubt she could find similar things to fill this one with as well, she thought as she set down the boxes and turned the key in the lock.

The door swung inward revealing the loft style apartment, it was the top floor of the establishment which meant it was a pain to move into but offered higher ceilings and large warehouse style windows that let in the light. She shoved the boxes inside and into what would be the living room... eventually. It took her only a few more trips down to her beater of a car to unload the few possessions she could call her own including a disgruntled looking tabby cat that had adopted her the first time she had called this place home. Somehow he had followed her over the last two years through the misadventures that had left marks both physical and not on her that she would not soon forget, if ever.

Each time she trudged out to her car she made sure to lock the door to her apartment, and every time she went to walk back into the building her wide eyes scanned her surroundings with more care than most would think necessary. Scars weren't all physical, despite the one that pricked on the back of her neck. So far she had seemed not to be followed her, to have escaped the sword that hung over her after she had gotten in too deep and it had sent her running back to Sacrosanct. It wasn't safety that drew her back, but perhaps familiarity at least. Finally everything was unpacked from her car and she stood with hands splayed on the marred countertop of her small kitchen.

The weather was still the cool of early spring, but the physical effort of having to move everything up the stairs herself had left her with sore legs and warm enough to have stripped off the sweater she was wearing before. Beneath lay a tattered tshirt that while once well-fitting now hung loosely on her, along with jeans that had once hugged her curves smoothly but now clung to her visible hips. Time away had taken its toll on her, but the part of her that still managed the fight she once possessed dared hope that being back here could heal. Scars were supposed to fade, or so she had been told, but her wounds ran deeply now. A sigh left her pink lips, too absconded in the past for the moment to realize that when she had kicked the door closed on her last reentry to the apartment it hadn't latched fully, leaving a crack large enough that anyone passing by could glimpse her pale figure inside. Something she would both harass herself over and have nightmares about for weeks after.