Disclaimer: I do not own Worm. It belongs to Wildbow — I'm just playing with it for now.

Revenant

Taylor's scream went on for some time, but she finally managed to pull herself together and stare at her arm.

Through her arm.

She distantly noticed how strange it was to be able to see the ground behind her semi-transparent skin as another scream ripped its way out of her throat.

Pulling herself together again, Taylor stuck her hand into the gravestone again, proud that she only whimpered as her fingers passed once more through the inscription of her name.

Taylor had to face the facts. She was transparent, intangible, and (from the lack of investigation into her screams) likely inaudible as well.

Taylor was a ghost. And there were no flowers on her grave.

She choked up, not entirely sure why that was the final straw, but no longer able to keep her emotions in. If she had ever wondered whether ghosts could cry, she knew now — they could, though her tears seemed to fade away whenever they dripped off of her body.

Taylor's tears redoubled after she noticed that fact, her attention drawn to her clothing by the path her tears followed. Her clothing was the same as she had worn that horrible day, and the filth from the locker was still caked on it. Was still caked on her, on her arms and legs and was it on her face, she desperately reached up and yes it was it was on her face.

She couldn't smell it, and couldn't really feel its presence unless she was touching it, it was weightless and textureless, as if a part of her own flesh, but something about the fact that it was there, that even death hadn't allowed her to escape from her bullies, made her snap.

Tears pouring down her face, Taylor tore at her clothing, desperate to rid herself of the reminder. She was a ghost, nobody could see her — better naked than covered in a testament to her death.

But the clothing refused to tear.

She attempted to lift the stained shirt from her body.

But she couldn't raise the hem.

She pulled at her jeans, wrestled with the button and the zipper.

But nothing moved.

She tore at her face and her arms, desperate to remove the filth, and when she found no purchase she ripped at her imagined flesh as if to rend it from her bones. Anything to get it off to get it away to be free from the filth.

But her broken nails were unable to break her flesh.

Taylor threw back her head and screamed again, face and neck and arms stained with pearly tears that dribbled down in rivulets, highlighting the tunnels carved by the bugs that had devoured her flesh as some memory of gravity drew them ever downward.

She collapsed to her knees and stared at her hands, barely noticing that she was hovering off the ground. Her fingernails were a mess, ripped and broken from tearing at the locker door. There was a hole all the way through the upper-left portion of her left palm, and her right hand was entirely missing its ring finger. Both were torn, covered in the unmistakable marks of ravenous bugs.

Time lost its meaning as she was held spellbound by the sight of her corrupted form. She was vaguely aware of the sun rising and of visitors passing her as they walked through the cemetery, but none came near enough for her to truly take notice.

Not until the sun began to set once more, and a man stepped inside of her as he gazed brokenly at her grave, lit by dying orange rays.

All at once, Taylor's world changed. It was as if a sense that she had never been aware of had suddenly awoken, and she found herself assaulted with foreign emotions.

REGRET SELF-HATRED DESPAIR FAILURE

There was something almost like thought there, too, but Taylor was too overwhelmed by the onslaught of feeling to give it much attention. She managed to throw herself backwards, body exiting the man and removing the flood from her mind.

"God, Taylor…" He sighed, kneeling and laying a small bundle of flowers on her grave. "I'm so sorry. If I had known…"

Taylor's first thought — a man at her grave, those emotions — had been her father, but that wasn't her father's voice.

The spirit of Taylor Hebert watched as Alan Barnes traced her name with his fingers, feeling a stab of envy as she watched his hand make contact with the stone.

"I didn't make it last week because Emma was institutionalized, Taylor. And Sophia..." His face twisted into a mask of rage. "She's in juvie, waiting to be old enough for a transfer to a proper jail. I know. It's too little, too late…"

Emma's father choked up. "I swear to you, if I had known, I'd have done something. My Emma needed help, and I didn't see it. And then… This." He looked exhausted. "I want to say that I can't believe how long it took me to find out her part in this, but I know I'd be lying. I didn't want to see it. Didn't want to believe that my Emma was so broken. I dismissed the clues I saw. I'm so sorry."

Taylor wasn't sure what to feel. Part of her sympathized with the man — she had just been in his head, and knew that his words were genuine. She wanted to be furious that he had ignored what was wrong with Emma—she was his daughter!

But with the clarity of memory she had gained since her time in the death-place, Taylor had to admit that she would be a hypocrite if she blamed him for it. She hadn't wanted to believe what Emma was doing, either — even as she suffocated in that hell, a part of her had been hoping, praying, maybe even believing that Emma would throw open the locker and haul her out. That she'd tell her it had all just been a mistake and she didn't mean any of it, that she would promise that they would be best friends forever, that everything would have been okay.

If that had happened, Taylor knew she'd have forgiven Emma. Forgiven her for everything that she had done without a second thought.

With that thought in her mind, Taylor tentatively stretched out her hand and laid it on Mr. Barnes' shoulder.

"I forgive you," she whispered, just as his thoughts and feelings began to flow into her.

Was she imagining it, or was there just a burst of RELIEF?

Alan Barnes hauled himself to his feet and heaved a sigh. "I'd stay longer, but I promised your father I'd spend tonight with him. I've done everything I can, but… I've already told you how hard a time your father has been having. I'm not letting him spend your birthday alone." He took a shuddering breath, tears leaking from the corners of his eyes. "Happy sixteenth birthday, Taylor. We miss you."

He turned and slowly made his way back down the row of graves, unable to hear the ghostly wail that rent the air.

AN: Much shorter chapter this time — a little less than half the length of the first one, in fact. That said, this felt like the best stopping point for this particular event, so here it ends! We'll be leaving the graveyard and seeing more characters next chapter, don't worry.