Cough. Wheeze. Et cetera.


Marigold sputtered the slime that'd been coagulating in her lungs for years now, shards of green still clinging stubbornly to her coat. Her throat was raw with the effort of it, and she felt as though next time she'd spit up blood.

Her body was slowly rediscovering itself, brushing off dusty shelves and sweeping cobwebs, preparing again for a life spent awake. Not much had changed - or maybe she hadn't cared to memorise her surroundings that much - but there was an uneasy feeling in her ancient guts, like the ground could give way at any moment and she'd be sent tumbling into an eternal nothing.

Again.

Father has to be near, she thought, stretching and tensing the muscles in her jaw. Her eyes settled on a strange, beautiful tree. That's new. Maybe-?


She stumbled through the greenery, her already clumsy gait worsened by the strange new shape of her legs, and the ages spent not using them.