Sam
She has the strange sensation of being unbound. Of a steady hand sliding under her head.
She shifts, pushing through the darkness. Where is she?
From somewhere far away, she thinks she can still feel the pulse of a soul. It is weak now, slow and small, so distant that it might be a hallucination. The pain consuming her body seems to wane, and her body feels mercifully light.
The darkness fades a little, into blurs of grays and blues. She squints, trying to see.
Gradually, the blurs coalesce into more solid shapes. A colorless sky. The edge of a rooftop.
And then, the outline of an old woman’s face, aged and harsh, lined from a thousand lives. When the woman looks down at her, she scowls.
“Foolish girl,” Demeter whispers.