@exceptxonalism.
❝ i still don’t know what i’m doing here. ❞ to say elizabeth has been shaken to the core would be an under- statement. after songbird grabbed her, the next thing she knew she was being taken to comstock house, of all places – the place that she was going to begin with. but booker isn’t with her now. and never, since the tower, has she felt so crushingly alone. she woke up this morning cuffed to a chair, with a dull pain between her shoulder blades and no memory of how she got there; comstock’s lackeys then took her arms and brought her to his built-in chapel. of course he’d have one, right? he’s rich enough. booker had better get here soon; she won’t last forever strugg- ling against them. the room is wide, circular, and softly lit, with panes of stained glass surrounding a terrarium of grass and gentle trees. it’s beautiful, in an artificial way – like there’s still something sinister underneath. the footsteps behind her prompt elizabeth to turn around, the sight of comstock causing her jaw to clench. ❝ what do you want from me? why won’t you let me go? ❞