Yes May is totally *fine* with recent events

Warning. Contains references to self harm.

May waited to hear the front door close before moving, walking to where she could watch Zephyr get into his car and drive away. She went into the kitchen with her coffee mug and poured it down the sink, watching the black liquid spiral down the plug hole as fresh tears spilled down her cheeks.

She fed her cats, stroking them briefly as they wound themselves around her and then walked up into her bedroom. She moved the rug, lifted the floor board and pulled out an ornately carved wooden box and a stone bowl. She put the boards and rug back neatly and slowly walked down the stairs.

She boiled the kettle and filled the stone bowl, weaving her fingers through the rising steam before taking it and the box carefully down into her basement. She left them in the middle of the floor of her demense; in the room that could inspire a hundred versions of Fifty Shades of Grey with little difficulty; and walked back up the stairs.

When she returned she’d showered and was naked under her bathrobe; bare feet making no sound on the wooden floor boards; her hair washed and braided up onto her head. She walked into the room that served as her study and retrieved a piece of chalk and her athame, a selection of candles and four small bowls.

With the ease of long practice she drew a perfect circle on the floor around the box and bowl; and then placed the small bowls and a candle at each of the cardinal points. She looked at the set up critically; straightened a candle and then moved a beanbag and a blanket into the circle; careful not to smudge the outline.

Her movements graceful and unhurried; chanting in High Speech under her breath she cast a ward around the circle. No one aside Possum was there to watch the shimmer of magic; or notice that her cats had come down to join her; one settling on a spanking bench and the other on a chest of drawers; their eyes unblinking as they observed the magic being cast. Finally satisfied that the ward was as strong as she could make it, May rearranged the beanbag within the circle and knelt on it. She moved the stone bowl of water within reach and carefully opened the box.

Ceremoniously she unpacked the box and laid the contents in a straight line across the floor. A dark red felt tip pen first; then a box of red elastic bands were placed to one side of her. A bottle of iodine; a tube of antiseptic cream and a selection of bandages and dressings; all in pristine unopened boxes were laid on the other side of the bowl; and then a measure of the iodine was poured into the bowl. A fifth candle was secured into a stand and then lit. Finally a small roll of fabric was taken out and laid out directly in front as she gently unrolled it.

The knives gleamed in the candle light. May selected one, inspecting the blade critically before holding it in the flame of the candle in front of her.

Sometimes I just need a red pen; and sometimes I work up to the elastic bands and then if that doesn’t work I’ll try a blade.

She regretted the half truth. Sometimes it was true, drawing patterns across her skin with felt tip worked. Heck she could even turn it into a game with Robin.

Sometimes the feel of the ping of an elastic band was enough to snap her back from the edge.

Sometimes the pit was too deep. And the walls she'd spent years constructing were being slowly and methodically dismantled brick by brick; seemingly by the whims of one single person.

The blood welled up under the blade and she closed her eyes as the tears fell faster and she began to carve her pain into her flesh.