There was a split-second where Eleanor considered whether or not this action was right — playing God, as mother likely would’ve dubbed it, was often frowned upon. Perhaps it was selfish, but she needed someone to help her.
”You were deceased. I reversed that.”
Father and the Little Sisters were fortunate enough to escape to the surface. Even mother had received a second chance. Eleanor did not, however. She could not see the sun, and while she was certain her father would come back to her, she needed someone by her side in the meantime.
The pit in her stomach told her that she should’ve just let this woman rest in peace, but, of course, d e s p e r a t i o n was a peculiar thing.
“My name is Eleanor Lamb,” her voice wavered in the slightest when she knelt down to the woman, “and I’m very sorry for disturbing the balance between your life and death, but I need your help.”
Revived? No! no? no no no no - how could she - how could someone have brought her back here? Elizabeth had been at peace; away from all t h i s, away from all the memories. She had finally settled her debt.
Wide blue eyes shot up to meet Eleanor's, their expression read only of desperation and fear. Elizabeth tried to back further from her resurrector but her clawing nails were met solemnly by shredded carpet, shards of glass and it wasn't long before she realized the aquarium like wall behind her wasn't going to move.
With a heavy head and an even heavier heart, Elizabeth drew in a deep breath and allowed her gaze to drift back to Eleanor. "Why me?" She whispered in a hoarse voice. "Why do you need my help?"
