This was better than Paris.
She caressed soft, translucent skin beneath her fingers. Elizabeth observed a large vein of Sally's forehead before meeting the girl's milky eyes. She'd be alright. Elizabeth could see behind the one door that Sally would be alright. Well, she could be. A chance was all it took. A hope.
She watched Sally's quite nonexistent brow pull together slightly, voicing her reserved concern. Of course, Elizabeth told herself, she doesn't know who you are.
Sally only knew that Elizabeth had protected her. She felt sad that the woman would soon leave her, and as an apologetic smile curved Elizabeth's lips, the dying woman felt relief in knowing this. All she'd done wouldn't be wasted.
Elizabeth knew Sally could be alright, and she tried to tell Sally this with her small smile. You have a chance, Elizabeth thought.
Paris didn't have this. It didn't have Sally keeping her company, singing softly, almost brokenly.
Elizabeth lay accepting her death, knowing her part in the play was ending. If the pain was anything to go by, then it was soon. If only she could have done more. If only she knew.
Sally seemed a little lost, and seemed to have no other objective except see Elizabeth through to the end of her part in the play. Elizabeth wondered what the girl would do once her breath extinguished. Eventually, she could leave Rapture. Maybe she'd repair her doll. Elizabeth rubbed the doll head in her hand.
Then, her heart quieted. Elizabeth's eyes widened as she realized-
With fading breath, Elizabeth wondered if Booker missed her.