In a world plagued by the undead, Mary Bennet, known for her humorless and serious demeanor, has discovered a unique strength and resilience that few suspect.
When a series of mysterious zombie attacks threaten the peace of Meryton, Mr. Darcy...
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WHAT IS TO BE FELT.
The night came to a grim conclusion with the acrid scent of burning flesh thick in the air, the sky above the assembly hall aglow with the flickering light from the fires.
The Bennet sisters stood together, their faces smeared with ash and blood, their dresses torn and stained beyond recognition.
As the last of the bodies was consumed by the flames, the sisters turned away, their steps heavy and weary as they made their way back to the carriage.
The ride to Longbourn was quiet, the wheels crunching over the gravel road the only sound that punctuated the silence between them.
No words were spoken, each of them lost in their own thoughts, grappling with the events of the evening. The adrenaline that had carried them through the battle was gone, leaving only exhaustion and a dull, aching fatigue in its wake.
When they arrived home, the familiar sight of Longbourn's ivy-clad walls greeted them.
Mr. Bennet stood at the door, his face illuminated by the warm glow of the lantern he held aloft.
His eyes were shadowed with concern, the lines of his face deepening as he took in the sight of his daughters, their usually vibrant spirits muted by what they had endured.
"I heard what happened." He said quietly, his voice strained with the effort of keeping his emotions in check.
His gaze swept over each of them, lingering on their disheveled appearances, the blood and grime that marred their gowns and faces. "Are you all alright?"
Elizabeth nodded. "We're fine, Papa. Tired, but fine." Her voice was steady, but there was an edge to it that hinted at the strain beneath her composed exterior.
Jane managed a small, weary smile, her eyes filled with a quiet, resilient grace. "It's over now."
Without a word, Mary pushed past them, her movements abrupt. She heard her father's voice, faintly questioning, but she did not stop.
The hallways of Longbourn blurred around her as she ascended the stairs, her feet carrying her up and away from the quiet inquiries and concerned looks.
Each step felt heavier than the last, as if the weight of the night clung to her, pulling her down, deeper and deeper into herself.
Her room was dark and still, the shadows deep and unmoving as she closed the door behind her. She leaned against it for a moment, her eyes squeezed shut, the events of the night replaying in her mind with a brutal and rather unforgiving clarity.
The terror, the blood, the cold, unfeeling words that still echoed in her ears— they all pressed in on her, suffocating in their intensity.
She moved mechanically, each action detached, as though she were watching herself from a distance.
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