[conversational, upbeat, far too invested in the story]

There’s this bit of wall upstairs, show you it later. Been watchin’ it for, like, two hours. Paint’s peelin’ in this really weird way, makes it look like a dick. Well, sort of. Kinda like one o’ those diagrams you get in the textbooks? ‘Cept, obviously, it’s peeling down – not up – so, y’know, sad day for the wall boner. 

[impatient, theatrical]

Ugh, hurry up already! What, d’you wanna say a prayer? “Our Father, who fucked off from Heaven, shallow be thy grave!”

[furious, accusatory]

You didn’t even know him! He wasn’t yours, he was mine! My family, so why do you get to keep pulling this shit about losing him – it’s fucking weird! I mean, isn’t it?!

[nervous, stuttering, growing slowly in confidence - reading a story she has written out loud for the first time]

“There was a girl who… who loved a man who loved… to talk. But the girl was different… E-Everyday, she could only say five words before her voice was stolen. It was a curse from a witch who had loved her father. Her father spoke all day of how he loved the witch, but he never meant it once…”