one hundred and forty-one:
May. 19th, 2010 01:04 am![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png)
[two weeks to the day after her suicide pact with the Monarch, Lucy wakes up in her room. Like her other returns to life, she's laid out on her bed, still wearing the clothes she died in; there's a bullet hole in her shirt and blood on it, but of course no more wound, aside from a brand-new scar. She's starting to rack up a collection of those.
She comes back with a start, her eyes flying open as she sucks in a sharp breath, and her hands jerk where they're folded across her stomach. She looks around at the ceiling for a moment, registering where she is as her last living memory--the hallway tilting, whirling, and blurring away--fades to become just that, a memory. She pulls in one breath, two. Her chest doesn't hurt any more. The Monarch was good; she died almost instantly. The pain hadn't lasted long... not like her last death, when she'd been torn apart by a monster and her scarred head tossed out into the castle lobby...
Her hands jerk again, but she makes no move to get up]
She comes back with a start, her eyes flying open as she sucks in a sharp breath, and her hands jerk where they're folded across her stomach. She looks around at the ceiling for a moment, registering where she is as her last living memory--the hallway tilting, whirling, and blurring away--fades to become just that, a memory. She pulls in one breath, two. Her chest doesn't hurt any more. The Monarch was good; she died almost instantly. The pain hadn't lasted long... not like her last death, when she'd been torn apart by a monster and her scarred head tossed out into the castle lobby...
Her hands jerk again, but she makes no move to get up]