[Misery festers bone deep as a fog of wild dreams clears, giving way to acute consciousness that Mary could certainly do without. The last thing she remembers is giving in to the approaching likelihood of her death, urging Edward to go on and do his part, and then vivid darkness.
She stirs.
The sheets feel too rough against the slide of her skin, the tentative flex of limps before her eyes slit open, squinted against what little light filters in from covered windows. There's a figure silhouetted in the darkness, and as hazel eyes come into focus, recognition dawns on her. Tired and sickly, she still manages a smirk, as if nothing at all has changed.]
" fancy seein' you here, Kenway."