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She can't help it.
She wishes she could stop.
They're asking if she's okay. She wants to answer, she really does.
But there's panic. A whole lot of it. It's going to explode in her chest. It's already taking her breath, and her vision—her vision's blurry. What else has it taken? It's going to take them, too.
It's going to take them.
She can't breathe.
Them, with their nervous smiles and their really obvious belief that everything will work out in the end. How can they think that? Don't they know—can't they see why this is a bad idea?
They're such nice people. Nice people. Who only want to live happy ever after.
Like Papa.
Her lungs are going to collapse, her brain will shut down, her heart is bursting at the seams and Papa is so far, far away. Her small arms can't possibly cross that distance. He's getting fuzzy. Blurry. He's fading out. She can't see his smile, or even his face, anymore and it makes her want to scream—
Carol screams. She screams and fights and cries about unfair and stupid it is and—
Papa is gone.
She's breathless. She can't get enough air into her lungs. But if she breathes, she'll inhale smoke. That's bad for your lungs, Papa said.
It is. But what's worse is the crackling sound of fire and the angry faces—they are so angryand she doesn't understand why.
Why did they have to be so—so cruel?
Sixteen people died. Papa didn't save them. That's not his fault.
It's not his fault.
Charred wood at her feet. Smoke sears her lungs. They don't believe her. She can't breathe.
It's overwhelming.
a/n: On the shorter side because I didn't want to prolong Elfnein's suffering. Don't worry, Momria and Tsupapa return next chapter.