𝐒𝐎𝐔𝐑| Max Mayfield [COMPLETED UNTIL SEASON FIVE]

xi. disconsolate

dis·con·so·late
/ˌdisˈkäns(ə)lət/
adjective
without consolation or comfort; unhappy.

In the depths of a restless slumber, twelve-year-old Mildred was ensnared by a recurring dream that unfolded with vivid intensity. Amidst a blazing circle of fire, she stood, her gaze shifting to behold her best friend, Cassidy Sinclair. The air resonated with Cassidy's desperate screams as water cascaded onto the floor, a futile attempt to quell the flames.

As the dream's narrative unfolded, Mildred, caught in the midst of this fiery ordeal, succumbed to a sudden and overwhelming unconsciousness. The last echoes before the dream dissolved were the haunting cries of Cassidy, desperately calling out Mildred's name—a poignant moment etched in the fabric of her troubled sleep.

Mildred's awakening was marked by a sharp gasp, her eyes adjusting to an unfamiliar space that lacked the sterile ambiance of a hospital room. Struggling to comprehend her surroundings, she discerned a room shrouded in mystery—devoid of windows but bathed in an enigmatic light.

As she rose from the bed, the cool touch of a hospital gown against her skin sent a shiver down Mildred's spine. A palpable sense of disorientation fueled her urgency as she approached the lone door in the room. With a mixture of trepidation and determination, she attempted to turn the handle, only to be met with an unyielding resistance.

Undeterred, Mildred's desperation took hold as she resorted to banging on the door with the heels of her hands. The hollow thuds reverberated in the enclosed space, and frustration etched across her face. A surge of determination propelled her to one last attempt, and she struck the door with a force that left a visible dent—a tangible mark of her struggle against the mysterious confines that held her captive.

When she hit the door, her hand didn't even hurt or bleed. "What the fuck.." Mildred mumbled to herself, "HELP! HELP!" Mildred yelled repeatedly.

The door swung open with a reluctant creak, revealing Mildred's father adorned in a lab coat, a mysterious companion in a well-tailored suit standing beside him. "Dad! Where am I?" Mildred's voice quivered, a mixture of fear and curiosity etched across her face as her father carefully closed the door behind him.

"Mildred, there's a lot to explain," her father's voice carried a weight of responsibility as he met her gaze, ushering her into a deeper conversation. In the confines of that peculiar room, her father unraveled a tale of extraordinary circumstances. He disclosed that her latent abilities had surfaced in the wake of the fire, an unforeseen consequence that had thrust Mildred into a realm of both newfound potential and perplexing uncertainty.

As Mildred grappled with her surreal surroundings, the discovery of the '012' tattoo on her skin marked a haunting testament to a dark reality. Imprinted during moments of unconsciousness, it hinted at a past shrouded in mystery and manipulation.