TWs: blood, war, death, mentions of murder, mentions of being burnt alive, swearing
***
When Cleo opened their eyes again, they were standing at the edge of a dense forest. Nothing seemed strange at first, but then they noticed they were wearing chainmail and greaves and holding a wooden heater shield with some sort of insignia painted on it.
And then she saw the blood on the ground.
And on her hands.
And coating her pike.
Who . . . was she?
***
Cleo didn't know how long they stood there, trying to come to terms with the fact that, whoever they were now, they had someone else's blood on their hands. They'd never killed a person before; the closest they'd come was watching Sausage slash King Ren's throat back in Red Winter.
Shouts and clangs echoed in the distance, breaking Cleo out of her grim reverie. It sounded like a war out there . . . which would make sense, she supposed, with the armor and the symbol on her shield. Cleo stumbled in the direction of the noise. As much as they didn't want to fight in a war, they didn't really have anywhere else to go, unless they wanted to chance wandering into the forest, where they'd probably get lost and get devoured by a wolf or something.
They needed to find someone they trusted before the watch started working, anyways, and they doubted there were many people in the thick woods.
Suddenly, Cleo stopped, panic ringing alarm bells in her head. Did she still have the pocket watch? It was on her when she died, so it should still be on her person, right? Martyn never had completely explained how everything worked. What if Cleo wasn't supposed to keep the watch on her at all times?
Wait, would the clock have melted in the heat of the fire Cleo got burned alive in?
Quickly, Cleo checked any pockets they could find in their clothes. If the watch was gone or melted, they weren't sure what they would do. Endure more death and revival, they supposed.
Finally, when she was on the brink of going into full panic mode, Cleo found the pocket watch tucked into a secret compartment sewn into the sole of one of her boots. She decided to just leave it there for now. Later, she'd find some string and put it on a necklace to wear against her chest.
With all of that resolved, Cleo continued to walk. After a while, they found themselves on a battlefield marred with boot marks, blood, and fallen bodies. The blood looked old, though, like the latest fighting here had happened three or four days ago, so they went on.
By now, the noises of war were gone, leaving Cleo with no auditory compass, so they just kept going in the same direction as when they could hear the battle. The sun was setting over the hills on the horizon, so she assumed the fighting was done for the night (after all, it was hard to kill your enemies when it was too dark to even see them).
Finally, Cleo spotted a field of white army tents straight ahead. She paused for a second. The tents looked haunting. Ghostly. Like somewhere Cleo didn't want to be.
For half a second, Cleo considered turning around and following her steps back to the forest where she'd started. Perhaps she could find someone in the woods. Before she had the chance to move, though, a hand settled on her shoulder. She startled and slapped it away like it was a bug.
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The Lives (And Deaths) of Cleo | MCYT Short Story
Fanfic"Alright," said Scar, "it's been nice knowing you." "Likewise." There was searing pain in Cleo's chest and a few frantic seconds of gasping for air, and then nothing. They were dead . . . and then they woke up. --- Cleo lives and dies and lives agai...
