☆彡 𝙰𝚗𝚍 𝙸 𝚌𝚊𝚗 𝚜𝚎𝚎 𝚞𝚜 𝚝𝚠𝚒𝚜𝚝𝚎𝚍 𝚒𝚗 𝚋𝚎𝚍𝚜𝚑𝚎𝚎𝚝𝚜, 𝚊𝚞𝚐𝚞𝚜𝚝 𝚜𝚒𝚙𝚙𝚎𝚍 𝚊𝚠𝚊𝚢 𝚕𝚒𝚔𝚎 𝚊 𝚋𝚘𝚝𝚝𝚕𝚎 𝚘𝚏 𝚠𝚒𝚗𝚎
𝚌𝚊𝚞𝚜𝚎 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚠𝚎𝚛𝚎 𝚗𝚎𝚟𝚎𝚛 𝚖𝚒𝚗𝚎
In which a years old promise is seen through an...
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sometime in 2039
─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───
THEY REACH CATALINA ISLAND AS THE SUN RISES — setting one foot on land on the white beaches of the island before the fireflies approach them, coming to their rescue. They all carry guns but none are held to their heads — instead they take Lev out of Abby's arms and help them get further onto the island. Evelyn is so out of it, the rest seems to happen in a series of flashes. Images of people watching them walk by, Abby and Lev being led another direction as they come into a hospital.
She's asked to sit down on a bed. Evelyn can see them talking to her but she doesn't register a single word, instead looking around her in a tired but worrisome manner, eyes out for her friends that are nowhere to be seen. They assure her they're fine and she's too tired to fight it. She reclines on the old but sturdy hospital bed, white luminescent lights blare in her eyes.
A nurse injects something in her arm. She doesn't even ask what it is. It looks like some sort of antibiotics. Maybe fluid replacement. She doesn't really care. These used to be her people, and though she is a bit wary and on edge, she allows them to do whatever necessary to let her inside. She has to trust them. They speak, Their words are but muffled noises to her ears as they examine her to make sure she's not infected, asking all sorts questions — she replies in tired mumbles.
She cannot remember falling asleep but she wakes up on a soft mattress, wrapped in cloud-like blankets. It's bright in the room, and she takes a couple seconds to adjust to the light, slowly pushing herself up into a sitting position. She quickly finds that it was the sun which woke her up, shining at her eyes. Outside the window, she can see the beach, waves slowly rolling onto the soft sands they walked up just... a couple hours ago? Maybe that was yesterday. Maybe even longer than that.
Suddenly she feels slightly panicked. Still a bit hazy. she stands up and looks around her. She's completely alone, which pushes her even further into panic. The room is small and spartan; the bed is small and creaky, accompanied by a small bedside table with a lamp and in the corner next to her, a closet that she can't imagine is actually being used. Old art clads the walls. It seems like some sort of old hotel, if she were to guess.
On the floor by the closet is her backpack. She grabs it, rummaging through it to make sure everything is there. And sure thing, her things are there. Save for the guns that the rattlers took from her. But a couple of changes of clothes and most importantly, the stack of Polaroid pictures is still in the small compartment on the outside of the bag.
