[✓] 𝐶𝐼𝑁𝐷𝐸𝑅 | 𝐒𝐏𝐄𝐍𝐂𝐄𝐑 𝐑𝐄𝐈𝐃

𝟑𝟑 | 𝐍𝐄𝐖 𝐑𝐄𝐀𝐋𝐈𝐓𝐘

— 𝒞 —

𝐈𝐓 𝐖𝐀𝐒 𝐇𝐎𝐓.

Really hot. Not a summer's day kind of hot. Not getting too close to the campfire hot. It was the kind of hot that made Charlie feel as though her skin would blister and her brain would melt if she stood in the same place for a second too long. Beads of sweat were running down her forehead and the back of her neck, and she was sure that the stains on her shirt were less than attractive.

Charlie blinked. It took a moment for the burning in her eyes to settle down—but even then, she could barely see. There was smoke everywhere. Strangely, the burning didn't extend to her lungs; she was breathing just fine.

She squinted her eyes, trying to see where all this was coming from. It was a little difficult, considering she couldn't see anything exactly. She tried waving the smoke away, at least to clear it a little, but to no avail.

"Charlotte!"

She perked up at the call of her name. It was a familiar voice—one that she hadn't heard in a long time. Unusually, there was no pang in her heart or abrupt blood rush at the sound of that name. Suddenly, she didn't feel as scared.

"Over here! Charlotte!"

She walked forward, following where the voice was coming from. As she trudged on, the smoke grew thicker, though it still did nothing to affect her breathing. The smell was worsening—an uncomfortable blend of gasoline and charred wood. She was walking on leaves—but that was the most she could tell of her location, which was not very helpful.

She kept her hands out in front of her so that she wouldn't walk face-first into a pole. And it was lucky she did that because, after a minute of walking, her hands met wood. Splintery, stiff wood. A door, she quickly realized. She felt around for a handle, but before she could find one, it creaked open.

"Charlotte!"

Charlie tried to wave away the smoke as she walked into the building. The wood underneath her shoes was crunchier than she expected it to be, but it felt sturdy enough to keep her from not falling through. She put her hand on the wall. The paint was peeling—she could feel the cracks and peels underneath her fingertips, the edges almost sharp enough to cut her.

"Hurry! Over here! Charlotte!"

The urgency of the voice grew. Charlie didn't have much care for her own safety as she scurried in, though the wood she walked on was beginning to feel more unreliable the further she went in. Her heart was going fast—she wasn't sure what she was about to face. As much as she didn't want to see it, her body had a mind of its own as it pushed her forward.

The smoke suddenly cleared. The ground was stable again. The walls were freshly painted.

Charlie looked around. She recognized the living room she was in, with its black leather couches surrounding the TV, the hung portraits of graduates along the wall, and the maroon rug that was always dusty no matter how many times it was vacuumed. There was the stack of board games on the coffee table that had gone untouched somewhere in the 1990s, and the floral curtains that made the room all the more cozier.

This was Vivian's living room. Her home.

"Charlotte! Finally!"

Charlie only had a moment to register Vivian's bright smile before she was enveloped in a hug.

"Viv?"

She was here. Right in front of her. Alive and well—looking as fresh and beautiful as she did the day she died. So chipper, so ready for the life ahead of her. Charlie wished that she could stay that way forever.