AN: not a new story I swear (kinda); for those of you interested, this is a rewrite of Of London Adventures, and yes, finally has a plan and a destination and another chapter that will be posted later today, promise.
She woke up alone.
It was the pulsating thrum that finally brought her back to consciousness; a heady beat trapped under her skin, like tidal waves which she couldn't quite break free of. It reminded her of being entombed, of being stuck…she was drowning, constantly short of breath, and she wasn't dying and she wasn't living and it hurt.
Everything hurt.
(she'd lost, they'd lost; all she could see when she closed her eyes was blood and red eyes, and so she kept her gaze on the blurry wall that must've been Kaede's hut and firmly shut down)
Eventually the old priestess returned, a basket of herbs tucked at her side, and a frown hidden in platitudes. She sat down by her bedside and gently explained the situation, drawing forth foggy memories that didn't want to return, that she didn't want to have back. Memories of death and loss and least importantly, victory. A triumph tinged with the most bitter of punishments…the kind which she had chosen.
And when she was sent back to her home, the one without her past, without a future, she was left with only one person to blame, the one who had done the wishing and the wanting and the ruining.
Herself.