Archive of Our Own ^beta

The first breath was painful, quick and sharp, half blocked by a lump in her throat. The sour taste of bile lingered in the back of her mouth. A white shroud was draped over her, allowing her to see and breathe only white fabric. Her chest heaved as her lungs begged for more of that sterile air. As if summoned by her need, a form descended from above, tearing away her gauzy veil, but she still gasped and choked. The form lowered to meet her face, pouring hot air into her, filling her lungs to their fullest capacity. Slowly, her inhales and exhales evened out, her body becoming accustomed to the healthy flow of oxygen. The form began to retreat, fading in her blurred vision. She chased after it, jerking her spine into motion, gradually raising her head, her shoulders, her torso.

As soon as the form left, it returned, helping her to sit up. Now she could see it better. A man stood before her, skin aglow in the uneven lighting, angelic yet somehow awestruck by her. He helped her to her feet as she took in her surroundings. She glanced, bewildered, at every corner of the unfamiliar room. The man stopped her with a gentle hand on her jaw, bringing her eyes to meet his. He whispered, “You’re alive.”

With that, he sank to his knees, staring up at her, overcome by adoration. She echoed, “Alive.”

When the man said that word, it made the pain sound desirable. She could feel that now. She was alive. Air scraped its way in and out of her lungs, hinges squeaked and muscles screamed at her every move, something not her own ached incessantly in her chest. She could feel it all. The joints of her hand stretched and she brought them up to her eyes, inspecting the curled fingers and exposed tendons. They glistened with blood. She could sense her blood pumping in her veins, dripping down her chest, moistening her skin. Her skin had heat and her mind had thoughts. Yes, alive.