Disclaimer: All characters appearing in this work are fictitious; I own nothing but my ideas.
a/n; I like parenthesis. And this trio.
I'm lucky, she decides.
Now that Morgiana thinks back—back to when those lemons scattered to the ground and her rags hitched a little too high to reveal the shackles on her feet (that chain around her neck, her hands, her heart), she's lucky. All it took was an offering, a reached out (free) hand to wretch her from the depths of which she had been shrouded in.
She was drowning up until that point—drowning, sinking, losing (but what is there to lose?)—as everyone was floating, breathing, living. They all came and left but she was always there, always, always.
What kind of life is this? Is this all that I am worth? (Help me.) Countless questions built up, unanswered and overflowing until—
The faint whistle of a flute blows from the sky, the sun. An untarnished, innocent, yet wise creature pulls her in an embrace, completely engulfing her very being and it's vast like what she remembers from her homeland. It's free, endless, and she's this close, so close.
She steps closer to have the sun blind her and she basks in its warm, golden hue. If it's for a short while, she thought, why not? A smile graces her lips and she sees the brightness through her closed eyes, only waiting for it to disappear and leave her again. (Though she stays.)
Night falls but the warmth is still there and Morgiana realizes, as she hesitantly reaches for those outstretched hands, that they are there to stay.
(She realizes that she is home.)