❝ This is the age of miracles, and there's nothing more horrifying than a miracle. ❞
DC Extended Universe, Justice League 2020
Bruce Wayne x OC, Soulmate AU.
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"God, in His infinite wisdom, seemed much more generous when it came to doling out pain." — Stephen King, Pet Sematary
. . .
The most excruciating pain that Theodora Law had felt in her life was when her forearm was broken. Placed over a log, and stomped on in one quick movement. Her bone snapped like a twig. It was a blinding, crippling agony that consumed her down to a cellular level. She'd passed out, only to awaken hours later with her arm being put back together as if He was doing her a favor. The pain was staggering.
This pain was much, much worse.
It was an immeasurable scorching sensation moved from the top of her head to the tips of her toes, like she was dipped in napalm. It was like someone flicked a switch, she wasn't, and then she was, and it was pure, staggering agony to simply choke up on the wet earth pressing down on her, filling her throat.
Blindly, Theodora thrashed frantically like a fish out of water; her hands spasmed while the white-hot pain ebbed and flowed through her body. Her chest hurt, ached with every movement she took to drag her body from under the loose earth. By the time she managed to pull herself out her shallow grave—it was more of a pit, or a ditch than anything—Theodora could feel the warm tears on her cheeks, how her bloodied nails were pulling against the nailbed from the effort.
Under the shining full moon, she must have made a vision: pale skin like milk, smattered in dried blood, mud, and undergrowth emerging from the earth like a monster in a horror movie. She barely had enough strength to stop herself from toppling over, face planting into the dirt.
I should be dead. Dead? I died. I should be dead...right?
Her thoughts raced, and her fingers clawed into the dirt as she tried to find something that could bring her back into the moment. Blood pounded in her ears. God, was there cotton in her ears? Her heart thudded in her chest, Theodora was sure it would explode out of her ribcage. Her hands spasmed in the dirt, the muscles contracting without reprieve. Her view of the world tilted as if she were looking through a refracting lens. It was too much. Theodora had to getaway. The bile was crawling up her throat, and her chest felt it was in a vice. The acidic taste coated the back of teeth, the only warning before she vomited into the dirt.
It wasn't vomit; it wasn't bile; Theodora knew those quickly. This substance was black, sticky like tar, tacky, and hot as she wiped her chin clean with a shaky hand.
This was not normal.
That realization just ratcheted the anxiety—the pure, unfiltered panic—up several notches. The skin on the back of Theodora's neck felt flush. Suddenly, she was hot and sweaty. The tremble that was effecting her left hand traveled to the rest of her limbs, making it almost impossible for Theodora to stand up. It took everything within her aching body to push herself up to sitting upright on her knees. Her heart was pounding even faster, even harder; she tried taking a deep breath to calm herself, but they were still sharp, shallow. Quickly her vision got darker and narrowed, looking like a kaleidoscope, like when you close your eyes, then press down on your eyelids to "see stars."
