Memories: Disoriented
@mlbigbang2024 / @verabraun-art
Alya was still talking, her words relentless and hollow, like they were meant to fill a void neither of them could name. The thought of silence—complete, unbroken silence—was more appealing than Marinette could have ever imagined. It felt like a craving now, an ache in her chest.
As they turned another corner, the world seemed to tilt. Her head clouded, her vision blurring as her eyes fluttered closed. Her balance wavered, the ground beneath her feet feeling unsteady and wrong. She stumbled, her hand reaching out instinctively. The rough, cold texture of a wall scraped against the back of her knuckles, the sensation sharp enough to pull a gasp from her lips.
For a moment, she stood there, leaning against the wall, her breath shallow and uneven. The distant sound of Alya’s voice buzzed like static in her ears, faint and disjointed. Something wasn’t right—nothing was right anymore.
Red. Lots of red.
‘Marinette?’ Alya’s voice sounded distant, foggy. ‘Marinette?’ the voice called again, distorted, deeper.
Her sight clouded in purple. A haze? A light?
‘Marinette.’
A sharp hiss of pain left her lips, jolting her from the fog and cementing her back in reality. Alya was holding her hand and looking at her knuckles, battered and glowing with a shimmering red. Red.
An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works
