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She crawls into herself and finds that she knows no way to get out. That skin that she can so easily wound, cut open, holds her in tight, clenching until her soul feels itself becoming burned out. That skin is tight and nothing can truly open it up, not from the inside or the oustide. She may have been here before but the exit strategy never seemed so bleak. It was almost a sure thing that she'd die here, complete suffocation, in a matter of days. Panic rose up for a moment but couldn't stay with such a small shell grabbing at her emotions. The only move she could make (almost outside herself, the only movement that her meager identity and overpowering body agreed on) was to grab the pillow case nearby and allow that suffocation to descend upon her faster.