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It hurt.

Her eyelids felt like they were glued shut as she tried to open them. Her brain sent orders that her eyes finally decided to obey and her eyelashes parted to offer a slit of light. It was too bright and brutal; they slammed shut instantly.

There was a strange woosh-woosh sound nearby and her body felt so heavy.

A smell assaulted her senses and a sudden flash of consciousness brought back a memory: lying on a hospital bed after her attempt at flying. She'd been eight years old and dared by the kid of her mum's latest boyfriend's sister. Jumping from the balcony had thankfully only resulted in a broken arm, but it had been a visit to the hospital nonetheless.

Tentatively she opened her eyes once again and saw white.

Blurry vision gave way to some clarity and she saw feet. Following the crossed limbs from their position propped up on the white sheet, she saw a person sitting on the chair close by. Her neck protested at the movement, but she ignored it as she recognised the person.

"Mum?" she croaked. Why did her throat hurt?

"You're awake!" the older woman exclaimed as she shot up in her chair. The face that moved was sluggish before her, but the whiff of smoke was easily detectible.

Smoke. Smoke. Why did she have that pressing feeling that she was missing something important?

Struggling to form words on her parched lips, she managed to get one free. "Smoke."

"Oh shush," Amanda's mother admonished her daughter, flapping her hands to move the smoke in the room around. "Let me finish this ciggie and then we'll get someone in."

Leann Price opened the small window a crack and blew out the last dreg before flicking the butt out. Watching her mother, Amanda felt pain in her muscles as she struggled to move and determine exactly where she was. Something felt very wrong. This wasn't home, and unfortunately the pain she was feeling seemed very real.

This was not happening.

She couldn't be back here. She shouldn't be back here. Panic began to settle in as fear bubbled to the surface. She struggled to breathe as she opened her mouth to speak once again. "Mum?" she cried out with a gasp.

"Oh shush," the older woman replied irately as she wafted her hands through the air to disperse the last lingering tendrils. "I'll go call for someone now."

As her mother left, Amanda felt an overwhelming sense of loneliness.

The nurse that rushed in next didn't help matters. The machines were checked, the chart was consulted, and she was poked and prodded. A doctor was paged for as she was summarily, for the most part, ignored.

The doctor arrived not long after. "Well, it is nice to see that you have decided to join us in the land of the living once again," said the tall man as he flicked through the charts. "Five years is a long time to be away."

It suddenly occurred to Amanda that this wasn't a bad dream. It was real, and if what they were saying was true, none of this had happened. She'd been in a coma. No Fitz. No Austen. No Ben. No Bess.

Bess.

Suddenly she snapped. "My baby!" she cried. "I can't be away from my baby for too long. She'll need feeding soon."

The nurse spoke in a soothing tone but the sudden grip on her arms was anything but. "Five mils nurse," ordered the doctor as Amanda fought to be free.

In every sense of the word.

"Please no," she begged uselessly, flailing about. A needle was injected into a tube and Amanda felt her grip on this reality slide as all went black.


Meanwhile in Austen, Fitzwilliam Darcy sits beside a bed, his three children in his lap, and watches.

And waits.


Next chapter: Lizzie.