Robbed and stabbed. Now that was a fate Olivia would no doubt claim better than the suffering she was forced to endure in the wake of being left at the altar. She tilted her glass slightly to the side as if threatening to spill it upon herself. At first, it looked intentional, but the young woman was hardly aware of how perilously close she was to causing a mess and making a fool of herself. She breathed in, sighed softly, and took the glass to her lips again.

She never invited strangers to sit with her, but then, no one ever tried to talk to her other than her siblings, it seemed. Olivia had become a bit of a pariah and a subject of pity among the gossipmongers, her tragic fate and steady mental decline a genuine concern among the local folk. Some questioned whether or not she ought to be institutionalized--the answer was probably yes.

Lowering her glass, she squinted her eyes as if it would make Anthony easier to see. It did not; it only made her look silly. Her face pinched as her mouth pursed. This time, without even draining it, she considered refilling it. The bottle was empty. She'd consumed the entire thing in one sitting, a feat most unladylike. Finally, she frowned.

"You can't read," she slurred. She couldn't either. At least, not with the way the alcohol made her vision swim. She exhaled deeply and shook her head. "Well that does me no good. He was handsome, with chiseled features and dark hair. Wonderful blue eyes, too. A fine young man."