— 👓 @bondedleader. ❜
WILL IT TERRIFY DWIGHT, seeing her this way? Seeing her in a way no-one has ever seen her in this world between life and death, so vulnerable and at her weakest? The track athlete is renown for her confidence, her strength and bravery. She rarely sheds tears, runs headfirst into danger, willingly risks herself for others. She is a BEACON of hope in vast darkness --- but the horrors of Léry's Memorial Institute, it seems, have swallowed her whole. The Meg curled up in the corner of this decrepit hall, quivering like a naked man in the snow, is nothing like the LIONHEARTED GIRL her fellow survivors know and depend on. She is a SHELL of that girl, a ghost, for it is fear, true fear that has rendered Meg into such a state of hysterical hopelessness. All other killers have only sent a chill down her spine when confronted with their maws; but this towering, cackling shape, with pinned back grin & peeled eyelids is enough to leave the blood in her veins ICE. Speechless, hopeless, heartbeat pounding in the drums of her ears, rattling around in her ribcage: there is no where to run. No where to hide. She can feel herself slipping further & further into MADNESS with every scream, every shock, every tremor flooding through her body.
"IT HURTS!” Logical thought and thinking has been fried in burnt cells; usually she would not be making so much noise, sobbing and howling like some wounded animal, but Meg’s brain sits scrambled from the electroshock therapy powered by gnarled hands and unbeating heart; all she can do is twitch, as if she’s made from static, short-nailed fingers prodding into the sides of her skull, as if trying to DIG DIG DIG at the layers of flesh and muscle, scrape away the effects of CARTER’S SPARK from the depths of her cranium. Body jolts, and Megan screams --- the sound is loud, piercing, echoes off down the corridor, as rapid-fire visions of her poor, sickly mother’s corpse flooding her vision. “I WANT IT TO STOP! I CAN’T TAKE IT! I WANT IT TO STOP!!” Meg hits her fists sharply into the sides of her head, trying, somehow, to prevent the seizures taking hold, words drowning with her absolute distress, body curling away from Fairfield. “IT WON’T STOP, WHY WON’T IT STOP?! DWIGHT IT HURTS! PLEASE! MAKE HIM STOP!”
