A.N. General disclaimer for all things copyright. I do not own the characters, setting, or lore utilized in the creation of this piece. My work is inspired by the creative thought of the original authors

She awoke in a field of white flowers.

Taylor's breath caught as she jumped to her feet, her cane sweeping out in a semi practiced move, a thread of shards whistling through the air.

She turned, rotating in place, searching for the beast, desperate to find him. She had to keep its attention, no matter the cost. If she didn't then Tattletale and her team were dead, plain and simple. She had known that when the beast had showed himself, known that nobody could have stopped it but her, that it would take hunter skills to bring down such a foe.

She spun in place for half a minute, heart pounding has hot blood raced, her sense alight with anticipation and adrenaline. After a minute she stopped and lowered her guard just enough to take in her surroundings.

She was back in the workshop.

She blinked and then looked around, confirming her surroundings. The workshop lay just over there, not thirty yards away, and the gravestones looked as old as ever. She felt the gentle breeze, teasing her neck and hair, as it carried the sweet scent of the flowers.

She reached back with her free hand, grasping tied hair, a bit startled. She remembered it being burned away, the feeling of flames licking her neck. What had happened?

Her brow furrowed as she pondered, relaxing a bit as she hooked her caneblade to her belt. Why was she here again? She hadn't fallen asleep, that much was sure. She was fighting Lung, the dragon beast, stalling for the heroes to escape. He was getting stronger, faster, and so much bigger. His fire burned hotter, cooking her within her outfit. She was fighting, twisting and turning, trying to dodge his strikes despite the pain surging through her leg.

Taylor gasped at the realization.

She had died. Lung had killed her.

The bite, a final blow. It had come swiftly just after her knee had given out.

Lung had killed her and now she was here, back in the field of flowers.

She could feel tears pickle at her eyes, fears she held after she first arrived coming back.

Except this time wasn't the first. No, she had thrown herself against a great foe, a beast beyond measure, and it had killed her for such courage.

She choked back a sob as she brought her hands up, looking at the gauntlets, fresh as new.

What was happening to her? She had felt so angry throughout the fight, wanted nothing more than to strike back at him for every blow she received. Every time he burned her she dashed forward, cutting into him, soothing her wounds by a literal shower of blood.

What was she becoming? Was any of this even real? Were her powers even natural?

They didn't make sense. She shouldn't be able to die and come here. Nobody could escape the end. Nobody. Some cheated, becoming invulnerable or through some trick of time, but when the time came no Parahuman had ever shown a resiliency like she had.

What did that make her? A monster who couldn't die properly?

Her thoughts were bitter as she began walking, headed to the small path that would lead to the front steps of the workshop. Her boots brushed by the white flowers, free of the blood that had covered her only minutes earlier.

Was she hallucinating? Had she even died? Maybe this was all some mad vision, a terrible faux reality, when the real her was laying in some bed in a mental ward. Maybe she was unconscious, laying on the street, her body slowly dying as the dragon closed ever closer.

Maybe this was all just the random firing of her dying brain as she lay rotting in the locker, some kind of distorted vision that she was trapped in.

Taylor was broken from her depressed thoughts by a voice, soft and somber, with an accent that she couldn't quite place

"Oh! Welcome back, young hunter."

She stopped, head snapping up, her main hand twitching to grab the caneblade. Her mind froze, eyes growing wide..

The Doll was standing, arms held demurely in front, at the base of the steps to the workshop. It was tall, taller than Taylor, easily over six feet in height. Her shawl covered her upper arms and hung at thigh, the fabric wafting gently to the breeze. Her white hair hung at the base her her neck, the bonnet covering everything but the front, and her head was tilted slightly, a curious posture. A small smile graced her face, porcelain lips moving as naturally as flesh.

Taylor stood there, arms limp at her sides, as she tried to process what she was seeing. The gentle drift of the wind teased her bound hair, a sweet smell tickling her nose.

She had gone insane. Must have. There wasn't any other explanation that made sense. The locker had driven her out of her mind. She was probably lying in the street, bleeding out as Lung crept ever closer, readying himself for the final blow.

Or was that even real? Maybe she was still in the locker, trapped, screaming for help that would never come.

The Doll's expression grew slightly worried, eyes slightly widening as a small frown grew, "Oh dear, are you unwell, young hunter?"

Taylor stared at the thing before her, a stark realization coming over her, encompassing, like a wave over rocks. It all made sense. The detail of the body. The high quality clothes. The realistic materials, like the hair.

Taylor couldn't help but choke, a sound between a sob and a cry, as she remembered the workshop's one constant.

Nothing was ever as it seemed.

The Doll was alive. It had always been alive.

It had been here when she arrived.

Her voice was quiet, tainted with an emotion that she couldn't quite identify, somewhere between sorrow and madness, as she spoke, "What are you?"

The Doll blinked, her frown growing slightly deeper as eyes grew larger, concern clear on her face.

A face too real. A face too human.

"I am a doll. I am here to look after you, young hunter." She took a step forward, a small thing, gently easing herself in the direction of her charge.

Who stepped back, a fast movement, something born of instinct and fear.

The doll's frown deepened further, her eyes turning sad, "Please, young hunter, do not be afraid. Nothing will harm you here."

Taylor could barely think. This situation was so jarring it had her on a constant mental backstep. To look after her? What did that even mean!?

Her heart clenched as a fear materialized in her mind. Maybe she really had died. She had died, moved on to some kind of limbo place where she could be the hero she always wanted to be.

Was she a guardian angel? Some kind of caretaker for the dead? Did it even matter?

"Young hunter, please, what troubles you so?"

She heard the small clicking of the Doll's boots against the cobblestone, her voice gliding through the air in soft and somber tones.

The thing was getting closer, but Taylor could barely bring herself to care. She was dead. Everything she had done in the past months had been for nothing, hadn't even been real. She would never see her dad again, never see the city she so fought for.

Never hold her mother's box again.

Tears dribbled down her face, pouring from her eyes and falling past her mask. She reached up and pulled the cloth down as she began to sob, her cap tumbling away to the ground.

She was trapped here, forever, in a graveyard, a testament to her sorrow.

Hands wrapped around her, pulling her into a gentle warm hug, her vision filled with a black cloth. She glanced upward, tear filled eyes locking onto the pale eyes of the Doll.

"Shhh. It's alright, young hunter. I am here for you."

Taylor openly cried as she buried herself in the embrace. Tears for everything she had lost. Tears for everything she had endured.

Tears for the life that was gone, forever.

Taylor sat in a chair by the fire, exhausted and emotionally drained.

She didn't know when the crying had subsided, didn't really care. She couldn't help herself. Couldn't hold it in. The pain, the regret, the sorrow. It was all too much, too great a weight to hold. She had years of sorrow to get out, a sea of tears to pour, and she hadn't stopped till it was over.

It had been cathartic, a release from so much pressure and pain. When it was over she had almost forgotten where she was and whom she was clinging to.

Almost.

The Doll had gently led her inside, setting her on a chair by the softly burning fireplace, leaving her forgotten hat and caneblade on the nearby desk. The Doll had then left her with a promise that she would return, off to get her something to help.

Taylor tried not to think about that. About whom or what the Doll really was. About what could 'help' someone like her. About how nothing made sense anymore.

By the time the Doll returned Taylor was slumped over, hands to her eyes, shaking from quiet sobs she tried to stifle. A gentle touch brought her attention back, large wide eyes looking up. The Doll knelt in front of Taylor, a sympathetic expression upon her face. She reached out with one hand, the segmented joints moving without strain or sound, as if it were something closer to flesh. Gently, she took one of Taylor's hands, wet with tears that had began anew, and brought it forward between the two. With her other hand the Doll settled something light and cylindrical in Taylor's, speaking in quiet tones.

"This will help you relax, young hunter."

Taylor withdrew her hand, eyeing the Doll with a weariness. She looked down and saw a small glass bottle, a paper label so old it was brown, what text it had worn away with time. Within the bottle was some kind of brownish liquid, slightly transparent, swirling with a strange consistency.

She looked up at the Doll, searching eyes ringed by puffy redness. She was lost, like a boat without its sail on a wide ocean. How could she trust anything anymore? Did she even want to?

What did it matter when she was already dead?

Forming tears caused the Doll to react, her voice a quiet plea, "Young hunter, please drink. It is nothing that will hurt you. You must be calm."

Taylor blinked through the tears and looked back at the bottle in her hand. It was so small, just a little glass medicine bottle she would expect to see at antique shops. It looked relatively harmless, the fluid slightly viscus as it rolled back and forth.

She'd learned her lesson about the workshop. Looks didn't mean anything.

Still, what else could go wrong for her?

She brought the bottle up, gripping it with both hands, and pulled the stopper. She brought it to her nose and inhaled, examining the aroma of the concoction.

She flinched back at the intense coppery smell, instantly recognizing the foul stench.

It was blood. The Doll had tried to feed her a bottle of blood.

Taylor shot to her feet, backpedaling a few steps away, eyes never leaving the confused looking Doll. Her voice, raw from the emotional roller coaster she'd been riding, screeching as she shouted.

"What is this!? What's with the blood!? What is any of this!?"

The Doll stood, hands folded in front, her sympathetic look never wavering, "It is medicine, young hunter. It will calm you in times a great distress. Please, drink it, so that you may be well again."

Taylor looked between the Doll and the bottle, rapidly coming to a firm conclusion.

Fuck. That.

The sound of breaking glass echoed throughout the workshop, interrupting the soft crackling of the fireplace. Taylor withdrew her arm, letting it fall to her side, eyeing the disappointed look that had come over the Doll. Her life was out of control, upside down, and all kinds of inside out. She might be dead or insane, she might have emotions that were just inches from spinning further out of focus, and she might be more than a little irrational now.

But she would be damned before she started drinking blood.

Her sorrow melted as anger rose to the fore, taking up the center of her spiraling emotions, like the eye of the great maelstrom. Time for some answers.

Her voice was low, bent from frustration and rage, "You are going to answer my questions."

The Doll tilted her head slightly, her expression changing to one of slight curiosity, "Certainly, young hunter."

Taylor considered her problems, the myriad of concerns that had been raised since her powers had formed, and started with the obvious.

"Where am I?"

The Doll blinked and straightened her head before responding, "You are within a dream, young hunter. It is a place of respite, a home for you to rest your worn form."

Taylor didn't know what to say to that, beginning to think some truth to the 'I've gone insane' theory. A dream? This was all a dream? How did that even begin to make sense!? She had spent months at home, working on becoming a hero, steadily ignoring or evading her tormentors, and trying to spend more time with her dad. Could her mind fabricate all of that?

That led her to an uncomfortable realization: what if the workshop world was a dream?

It made sense, when she considered it. When she slept she came here, awake as if nothing had really happened. Likewise, when she returned it was often at or nearby where she fell asleep at. Maybe she thrashed around when she was unconscious? She always awoke in the field of flowers, even though she would usually nap in her chair or lay outside.

She didn't dream anymore. She couldn't. Instead, had her powers given her some kind of perpetual lucid dream? Something that would stay fixed for her so she could come back to?

It made sense. The pieces fit together, all but one. She desperately wanted it to fit, to have some kind reasonable explanation for what was happening to her. But it was all for naught as she was forced to consider the snag in her theory.

She had awoken outside of the locker.

It had been locked, something she had failed to force even after a an hour of trying. How could her unconscious body have a hope in that situation.

She needed more answers.

"What do you mean by 'dream'?"

The Doll regarded her for a moment, an unreadable look on her face. A stifling stillness filled the room, choking and encompassing. Taylor felt like she had to gag, as if she couldn't breath. She felt a heaviness fall over her body, like a dozen quilts thrown over a person, pressing down on her from all sides, forcing her down. She tried to move, shrug her shoulders or twist her neck, anything to dismiss the feeling, but she couldn't, weighed down something she couldn't grasp.

She blinked and the feeling was gone, as if it was never there, the soft crackling of the fire and sweet wind filling the area, a calm peace that had never left. The Doll was watching her, sad eyes filled with sympathy.

Taylor swallowed hard, trying not to think about it, watching the Doll with trepidation.

After a few seconds the Doll spoke, her unfamiliar accent carrying across the workshop, "This dream is very old, young hunter. Over time, countless hunters have visited this dream. The graves here stand in their memory. It is a place set apart from the waking world, meant only for those who hunt beasts."

Taylor stared, trying to comprehend what she had heard. There really had been others. She had begun to wonder, after a time. Weeks of visiting the workshop without seeing anyone had left her convinced that nobody else could access it, that the books were left for her with some strange intent by her power.

There had been others who had come and gone, leaving their slight mark as they made their way through. She wasn't alone, at least not in spirit. She wasn't even the first. They absence did bring up an important question though: what had happened to them?

She didn't realize she had voiced that query until the Doll had responded with an chilling answer.

"Why, they stopped dreaming, of course."

And what did THAT ominous answer even mean?

Taylor shook her head. She wasn't going to think about that, or all of of things she was learning, if she was being honest. It was too much for her to consider. She had to focus. What were the important things to know concerning herself.

"When you say 'beasts', what do you mean?"

The Doll tilted her head slightly, confusion marring her face, "Do you not have such things, young hunter? They are terrible things, monsters made from men, that destroy and harm all they see. Often, it is the responsibility of the hunters to hunt the beasts. Is it not the same in your waking world?"

Her waking world? Did other Earth's have access to this place? Had anyone from Alph spent some time in the workshop, or any other Earth undiscovered yet?

She tried not to think about it.

Instead, she shook her head, "My home is different. The villains there hurt people but they don't do it enough for the heroes to go after them, to stop them. Instead, everyone suffers."

The Doll's head tilted further, her confusion growing, "I'm sorry, but I do not understand."

Taylor's brow furrowed, considering what to say. Clearly the Doll didn't know about her world, or didn't know about what was going on. Trying to explain it would only confuse her without proper context. She had to make it simple.

Her mood dipped as she considered the truth in her words, that the heroes were really not any better than the villains, willing to sell out the civilians for some kind of peace. It made the words that followed bitter and foul.

"My home is controlled by beasts who manipulate whomever they can. I'm the only hunter there."

The Doll's expression grew sorrowful, sympathetic eyes returning, "Your burden is heavy, young hunter. I now see why you have need of this dream."

Taylor frowned. She still didn't understand what this 'dream' was. Admittedly, she didn't really want to know, as this entire encounter was reaching new heights on her 'don't think about it' scale. Still, she had to know one thing.

"Why happened when I died? Why did I come back here?"

The Doll's expression maintained, her eyes sad. There was a pause, only for a moment, before she responded, "Do you remember dying, young hunter?"

Taylor stared at the Doll, jaw hanging open as she registered the words. She instantly wanted to respond about how inconsiderate it was to ask something like that, but she reigned in that particular spike of rage, thinking about the question posed.

She had no memory beyond her screaming in the locker, banging on the door, crying out for help. One moment she was there, pleading and begging, and the next she was waking in the field.

Her fight with Lung had ended similarly. She had felt the final bite, something that hadn't hurt as much as she thought it should. Her strength had gone after that, body limp in his jaws as he threw her. She could barely remember feeling the hot air on her scalp as she soared, but that was it. After that her thoughts became hazy, like that of an old memory from so long ago.

Her eyes widened as she realized she couldn't remember, that it was faded and gone, like she had woken up.

"No.", she said, her voice quite with fear.

The Doll nodded, watching her young charge, her voice echoing, "Then think of it as nothing more than a bad dream.