felt warm again, all the time.

It wasn't a cozy feeling—the endearing emotions that make the heart smile while curled up under a blanket or opening a Christmas present, hearing the words "I thought of you" or being on the receiving end of a hug.

It was a heavy feeling, one that sat on Daisy's chest and made it hard for the girl to breathe.

Daisy failed to find the words to explain to Mark how she had been feeling since Calypso passed without sounding crazy.

She knew there wasn't any blood on her physically, and Daisy was—metaphorically speaking—fresh as a daisy.

But she could always feel the sticky sensation, and it never went away. No matter how many showers she took, no matter how many days passed—she always felt the warmth of the lingering blood on her skin.

Presently, Daisy was curled up in her sister's twin bed, facing the wall as she stared at the plain white paint.

Calypso and Mark had made plans to paint the room a baby pink in June, seeing as the court date for August was set and Calypso's bedroom would be Calypso's bedroom for a long time; she could make whatever permanent changes she wanted to it.

Daisy wished her sister would be around to live in a pink bedroom, that would've made her happier than anything.

The walls were bleak as they remained untouched by pink paint, waiting and looking lonely as the room's occupant was gone.

Daisy clutched the item in her hands tighter to her chest as her thoughts overwhelmed her. The thick wool pressed against her skin made Daisy's palms clammy, the girl not bothering to pull away from it as she let the sweat build up.

A bunny, once as white and untouched as snow but now drab and worn as a result of years of use, developing a grayish tint. Violet was embroidered into the bunny's stomach in lilac threading, the small stuffed animal having been baby Calypso's first gift.

Mom had held this bunny before and Dad had held this bunny before and Calypso had snuggled with this bunny every night for seven years, and the thought comforted Daisy in a strange way.

The thought also weighed her down a bit, the knowledge that everyone was gone. The girl that had loved the white bunny with purple threading was gone.

Hushed tones echoed from down the hall, Callie and Mark not being nearly as quiet as they thought they were being.

Daisy was quite used to the pathetic routine she'd built up in the few days since Calypso's passing. Mark and Callie had a slew of conversations about the girl, and Daisy always pretended she didn't hear what they were saying.

"She has to eat."

"She doesn't want to eat."

"I know she doesn't want to eat, Mark, but you can't let her starve herself."

"And I also can't force-feed her if she doesn't want to eat. She'll cry again, I don't want her to cry again."

That's true, Daisy thought to herself.

The girl cried over everything at this point, and she was convinced her emotions were broken. Just getting out of bed and unclasping Calypso's bunny from her hands was prone to lead to a sobbing episode.

The weight of standing up and getting out of Caly's tiny bed was too much. Even talking made Daisy want to cry.

There was a prolonged silence between the two adults talking down the hall before Callie finally spoke.

"Have you made any arrangements yet?"

A long pause.

"I don't know where to start. I don't know how to plan a funeral for a seven-year-old. It seems cruel—a regular funeral, only with a tinier casket?"

A longer pause.

"I'm sorry, Mark."

Callie's voice came out in the quietest tone as she spoke, and Mark didn't respond to her.

There was an even more extensive period of silence filling the air this time, and Daisy wondered what was happening down the hall. Daisy couldn't rely on her visual senses to fill her in, only her auditory ones.

The girl's auditory senses did pick up on the faint echo of footsteps down the hall, the sound coming closer and closer until there was a knock on Calypso's bedroom doorframe.

"Hey." Callie's words were gentle as they passed the threshold of her lips. "You okay?"

No, Daisy answered mentally in her head, though she knew Callie couldn't hear her.

"I brought breakfast today. Do you want to come eat?"

Callie brought breakfast every day, and it was a daily battle for Daisy to try to shove food into her stomach.

Daisy was sort of hungry all the time, but she felt sort of nauseous all the time. She was sure it was the guilt that was tearing her stomach apart.

I killed Calypso. I shouldn't get to eat.

"Actually...no, I'm making that choice for you. You're going to come eat. Come eat."

That's mean, the choice should be mine.

Callie sighed when Daisy stayed silent, and Daisy could tell her unresponsiveness was irritating. "I brought donuts. And I got a ton of the strawberry ones, with the pink frosting."

Calypso likes pink.

Calypso liked pink.

"They're really good donuts." Callie enticed as she approached the girl laying down.

Donuts aren't healthy. If you and Mark are so concerned about me obtaining nutrition, you really should've brought fruit or something.

Daisy felt Callie's arms around her as the woman gently tried to help the girl up out of bed. Daisy couldn't protest her objection to be separated from the warmth and comfort of her sister's bed. The only thing that escaped the girl's lips was a frustrated whine, a mix of all the thoughts of sadness and anger and guilt she couldn't possibly put into words.

"I'm the worst, I know, I'm sorry." Callie sighed, helping Daisy up to a standing position. "But we're going to eat breakfast and feel good and it's going to be a good day."

But it never was a good day. Callie said that every morning, and it never was a good day.

Daisy's days were long, and tiresome. Daisy couldn't eat. Daisy didn't get out of bed, she didn't unclasp the tiny bunny from her hands. Daisy didn't do anything.

She could think of quite a few adjectives to describe just how miserable her days had become since Calypso died, none of which were synonyms of good.

Callie kept her hand on the small of Daisy's back, providing a sense of stability as she tried to lead the girl out of the room she had been holed up in.

Daisy's legs felt weak. She felt like she was a toddler again, learning how to take her first steps as everyone watched nervously to see if she would fall to the floor.

The end of the hallway opened up to the rest of the apartment, and Daisy immediately winced at the amount of sunlight streaming in through the large living room window. It hurt her eyes, and somehow put her in an even worse mood.

Daisy wished it was raining. Daisy wished it was dark and somber, gray rainclouds littering the usually azure blue sky. Daisy wished the weather would mirror her gloomy feelings so she didn't feel so alone. Daisy wished Mother Nature was still weeping over her city.

But Mother Nature had moved on quickly, sun shining as she smiled and forgot about the girl that had died.

Daisy's steps were short, her walk seeming to be less like a walk and almost like a shuffle. Her feet barely moved as she trudged towards the kitchen table with Callie stood close, ready to catch the girl should she magically black out.

Mark was sat at the kitchen table, his eyes stuck on his laptop screen.

The man looked as tired as Daisy felt. His left hand rested against his jaw, as if he needed the support to keep his head held up. His right hand he used to control the cursor, scrolling through a local funeral directory website.

Mark looked tired, but he didn't look empty.

Daisy knew the opposite could be said of her. The girl was aware that the hair that was usually brushed and pin-straight was unkempt and in tangles. She knew her posture was horrible, the girl constantly bent over as she carried the weight of Caly's death on her back. Daisy was aware of the dark circles under her eyes, the color coming in as a result of sleepless nights.

Sleepless night after sleepless night. Daisy laid there when the sun set and kept her eyes open until the sun rose again, soaked in sweat, watching the pictures of an unconscious Calypso play again and again on a never-ending repeat.

It was her fault. Daisy knew it was her fault. Being a good big sister was Daisy's only real job, and she had somehow screwed it up. What does one even do anymore when their life goal of being a good sister can't be fulfilled?

Daisy slowly took a seat at the large kitchen table, her eyes still feeling a little hazy as they adjusted to the brighter light.

Mark glanced up at the girl, not saying anything as he held a frown on his lips.

Daisy figured it was because she looked bad. Weak, tired, sad. The girl felt all of those feelings intensely, and she knew it showed outwardly.

Daisy let her eyes fixate on some faraway point as she held the bunny tight in her hands, close against her chest. The dull fabric of the stuffed animal peeked through Daisy's fingers.

There was sweat building up, and Daisy was incredibly aware of it. She usually hated sweat on account of the fact that it was just gross.

Moisture collected together on the surface of the skin, creeping out from every little sweat gland and skin pore. Daisy was aware of the millions of microbes prancing around on her sweaty hands. The thought of the excreted liquid made Daisy want to run over to the kitchen sink and wash her hands for a solid five to ten minutes.

Daisy couldn't move though—she couldn't possibly pry that bunny from her hands. She didn't care how much sweat was building up, she just didn't want Calypso's bunny out of her grasp.

The girl's brain continued on a constant loop of freaking out about perspiration while Callie attempted to get breakfast ready for the girl, Mark trying to sort out the difference between a mahogany casket and a cherry casket.

"They look the same." Mark mumbled, squinting as he flipped back and forth between pictures. "Why is one a couple grand more than the other?"

"You should take a break." Callie spoke gently, noticing how frustrated the man was growing.

But Mark knew he couldn't take a break, for he would never start back up again. If he closed his laptop, he wouldn't be able to open it back up again, and Calypso didn't deserve that. Calypso deserved the whole thing—the flowers and the ceremony and the speeches. She deserved a proper burial in which her tiny body would finally get some peace.

The apartment was quiet without the little girl. It felt empty, an intangible space that was big and left the apartment feeling cold. It was a heavy emptiness, one that Mark couldn't bear to carry.

Calypso's weekly coloring sheets became valuable keepsakes. The scribbles of blue and pink and purple stretched just outside of the lines—the girl had always been horrid at keeping her colors inside the lines.

There were so many toys she had abandoned, so many dolls and building blocks. Mark didn't know what to do with all of them.

He supposed he would let them sit untouched in her room forever, in the same way that the pink bedsheets would collect dust in the linen closet. Mark wouldn't ever have the heart to get rid of any of Caly's belongings, and her room would become the definition of history. It would be a precious museum that would stay just in the way the tiny girl had left it.

And then there was the matter of Daisy, of course. Mark didn't know what to say to her.

Daisy didn't look sad as much as she did just empty. She looked emotionless, her face as blank as an untouched canvas. She didn't hold an inkling of pain or anguish in the shadows of her face, her sore fingers trembling slightly as a result of clasping the stuffed bunny so tightly.

Mark loved Daisy very much, and yet the best way to express that seemed to be to take a step back and let her have her space.

He would be there if she needed help. But Daisy needed to process her thoughts and feelings on her own. Mark could cook Daisy dinner and help her with her homework and wash all the red dinner plates in time for the next night's meal, but processing thoughts and feelings was the one thing Mark couldn't do for Daisy. Daisy needed to grieve on her own.

Daisy felt the grief ripping her up inside. The feeling was eating her heart, shredding away until Daisy felt like there was nothing there. The feeling clawed at her lungs, blocking Daisy's airway and making it hard for the girl to breathe.

But she just couldn't express that. She couldn't scream, she couldn't cry, and there were no muddy puddles to completely break down in.

Daisy watched Callie place a glass of water in front of her, laying her medication out in front of her in a somber way, like it was a last supper situation.

It felt dire. It felt to Daisy like picking her poison. Whichever poison you pick, it's all going to end the same way.

Daisy felt like no matter what pill she picked up to take, it would all be the same. Daisy felt she wasn't actually getting better, and the medication was an illusion to trick her brain into thinking it was helping.

Daisy hated how many pills she had to take. She felt like a lunatic, taking pill a for mental illness a and pill b for mental illness b and pill c for mental illness c and-

It didn't ever stop. It always kept going, and Daisy was seriously baffled with her brain. How was it possible for a person to have so many illnesses? Was she just a pill at this point? Surely taking so many medications stirred something bad inside her?

"Dais." Callie's words were soft, eyes on the girl with the trembling fingers who was still merely holding that bunny. Callie pushed the medications a little closer to Daisy as the girl's eyes followed Callie's hand.

Daisy felt like she was bleeding internally. Like the insides of her were gushing and crying out for help and Daisy was just sat doing nothing. An internal bleed that nobody could outwardly see, but Daisy could feel. She could feel herself dying. She had to be internally bleeding because God it hurt.

Daisy knew her days wouldn't always be long and hard. She wouldn't always struggle to get out of bed and eat, Callie and Mark wouldn't always have to do every single thing for her while she sat motionless.

One day she would move on, in the same way she had with Mom and Dad. Daisy knew this pain wouldn't last forever, she merely had to adjust to life without Calypso. This pain wouldn't last forever, and this was just an adjustment period.

But presently, it felt like it wouldn't ever stop. Daisy felt like she was bleeding on the inside, and the apartment remained quiet without the giggling seven-year-old.