To Turn Back Time

Ready, Set, and Begin

With a wild gasp, Coco shot up out of bed. The force of the jolt sent a shot of pain through her leg and abdomen. She groaned, clapping a hand over her stomach and fell back onto her pillow.

With her free hand she wiped the sweat from her brow and threw off the thick, wool blanket that had begun suffocating her. The cool air was like a gentle balm to her flushed skin and she let out a soft sigh.

After a few moments, she slowly pulled herself into a sitting position, wincing as her muscles contracted, tugging at her stitches. The bed whined loudly as if calling her to lay back down and forget about her responsibilities. The offer was tempting, but there was still a tiny part of her that had yet to die which quietly beckoned her to get out of bed and face the day.

Then again, she had no idea what was her and what wasn't anymore, so who was to say that was her voice.

She blinked harshly and rubbed her eyes before glancing around her room. It was exactly the way she left it...at least, she thought it was. The pale cream walls laughed at her and she snarled right back. The chair that belonged at her desk was across the room under the vent with her uniform draped over the back of it. Speaking of the desk, there were books strewn across it, one half open and marked with a bookmark. Her closet door was half open, clothes practically spilling out of it.

The floor was cold to the touch, just like she remembered. She dug her fingers into the rough, plasticy surface of her mattress and took a deep breath.

It was fine, nothing had changed.

"Are you okay?" A soft voice echoed through her head.

Coco jumped, heart slamming against her chest. After a moment, she rolled her eyes and shook her head.

Of course, no matter how many times she wished it'd just go away, that was still an issue.

Coco ignored it and leaned down to pick up her crisp, steel brace from the floor. As she was carefully buckling it into place, the voice spoke again.

"Coco?"

"Yes." She snapped aloud, "I'm fine."

"Oh, okay." The voice answered back, "I just wanted–"

"–I said I'm fine." Coco replied again, desperately trying to end the conversation there. Thankfully, the disembodied voice finally caught her meaning and shut its mouth.

Coco shook her head, little strands of her stark white hair falling into her face. With a grimace, she tucked them back out behind her ear.

She finished buckling the brace around her leg and, with a huff, she shoved herself to her feet. Her hand leaped out to grab the desk for support as she swayed unsteadily on her feet. Her vision blurred for a moment before straightening out and drifting back to normal.

From this angle, she could clearly see herself in the mirror, which hung on her closet door. Her nose turned up as she scanned herself in the mirror. Sharp blue eyes stared back at her, framed with unnatural snow-white hair.

For the love of York New, she looked like a dodgy protagonist.

It was disgusting.

Thankfully, nothing else had really changed. She glanced down, catching a glimpse of black on her inner wrist. Her jaw clenched, eyes locking onto the mysterious thing. Peeking out from the inside of her wrist was a small bundle of black ink. It stood stark against her warm skin, too stark. She brought her wrist up closer to her face, staring at it for a moment.

The neat, straight lines standing all in a tight row practically mocked her.

A label.

She glared at it, anger bubbling up inside of her.