‘So this is what death feels like.’

Floating away, drifting; a curl of black smoke rising from the ashes of the nightmares that rage in full force beneath her. Both eyes are squeezed tightly closed, and yet her fragile mind rapidly absorbs images of the unfolding terror, her enhanced senses making her aware of everything; every touch, smell, and sound magnified to reveal the extensive horror. Even in death, she cannot help but feel. Titans clash, monsters snarl and ravage all in their way, while the paper dolls flee helplessly, praying they can escape the destructive mêlée with their lives and loved ones. She pays small thanks to the fact that physically, her end is relatively painless, and hopes it will remain that way, pleading that it will be over quickly. ’Won’t let them hurt me again.’

Curiously, the anticipated fall into a deep, endless slumber is absent, and there is no sensation of life steadily flowing out of her - instead, while she doesn’t feel confident in her entirety, she feels a substantial piece of herself, enough to let her know that she’s still there, still exists. She continues hovering but in one place, as if anchored there by some invisible cord. ’Excursion from mortal realm into spiritual planes delayed by 1.52 minutes - but still no evidence of blinding white light.’ The nightmares continue to blanket the air around her form, but with her newfound realisation, they don’t smother her completely, and so she slowly cranks one eye open, taking in the sight below. Her eyes widen slightly.

The figure is curled up in bed, blankets wrapped around its slight frame protectively - the face is barely visible, curtained by tresses of long, dark curls that fan out over the pillow. Without looking any closer, she knows about the frown that mars its nymph-like features, the way fingers grip the sheet underneath the duvet; yet the view of her own body isn’t as alarming as she would have expected it to be. Not least because her pulmonary and aortic systems are functioning ste