She doesn’t walk off. The robotic arms carry her, still limp and dripping with crimson glycol, to a gurney at the side of the stage. The lights go black for exactly ten seconds of total silence. When they come up, she's wearing a clean, white hospital gown, the word "ANGEL" written in sharpie on the chest.
She doesn’t walk off. The robotic arms carry her, still limp and dripping with crimson glycol, to a gurney at the side of the stage. The lights go black for exactly ten seconds of total silence. When they come up, she's wearing a clean, white hospital gown, the word "ANGEL" written in sharpie on the chest.
