Wavering like it's glittering

She couldn't forget it. She had thought she was becoming a ghost. She had panicked. The fear, so deep, cracking her bones and withering her soul.
Sure. Rupert was there. Shoulder to shoulder. But she had shivered alone for weeks. Something had to be done. She had to do something.
At dusk, Lucy sat under the trees in the back garden, crossed her legs and rested her hands in her knees. Breathing deeply, she closed her eyes and tried to focus on the air, her breathing, the warmth of the falling sun. She traveled to her white panic room, where her white luggage was over the white sofa.
But it wasn't white anymore. It was... it seemed stained. Dark spots on the walls. Dark drops on the floor, as if the furniture had cried darkness.
Lucy smiled. Time for painting.
.