A/N: Hey everyone, this is loosely based on a fic I had posted back in 2012 called "The Scent of the Wind". I never finished it and can't now for sheer embarrassment. I've changed a lot of things, amended a lot of loose ends and cringey things. That section of this story won't pick up for awhile, but I hope you enjoy it nonetheless. Thanks for reading!
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At first, there was violence.
Twisted and pulled and thrown and stretched without purpose or direction. No sense of how or where or why or when.
Deaf and blind to the world―if there was a world beyond that suffocating silence―if there was anything left of her beyond the memories slipping away with each moment spent in the void, no sensation beyond the incessant vertigo.
If she'd had lungs to scream she would have. Instead, choked by nothing, no ground to dig her nails into, no dirt nor fists to beat in a show of rage. No release from her own fury.
Then, suddenly, there was warmth.
It enveloped her in an embrace so tender, so full and so complete she would have wept if she'd had the tears to shed. If she still knew what it meant to cry. In that embrace she found her sense of direction, could finally right herself against the sensation of hot and cold, could orient herself along the eddies and strings of power, no longer torn beyond her control.
It spoke to her, a voice that transcended sound, soothing words to appease her battered soul and weary heart:
"Not to worry, I will make things right."
With no voice nor lips to answer, she merely clung to it, as fiercely as her ghost would allow.
"Rest," it said.
So she did.