Tattered Frames // Alastor & Mary
There it was again, that irritating ringing; or was it more like a buzzing?
The noise was infinitesimal at best, but Mary still heard it each and every time her eyes struggled open and her consciousness surfaced. There was beeping to be heard as well, though she didn't notice it accelerated every time she woke: a heart monitor. In truth, Mary didn't know where she was at all. The witch remembered the past week up until Remus found her inches from death on the sidewalk. She remembered screaming at him an hoarse voice not to touch her, and then nothing.
If her eyes would stay open for more than a moment, she would recognize the alabaster walls of a hospital room. She would take in the smell of various chemicals and notice the IV in her arm, the stitches littering her body and the recently removed tube from her throat.
When her mind did surface from the deep and thick fog swirling within her body, Mary could hear the whisper people as they moved around the room, though no voices were familiar. She could have sworn she heard the irritated voice of her mother, but she wasn't sure. The phrase "lucky to be alive" was heard often and if Mary was able to do anything other than lay there, she would have scoffed.
She wasn't lucky, she was damned.
Death was in her immediate grip but somehow she'd slipped through the cracks. The majority of her still wanted that peace that came with death, only a fraction of herself knew that the pain had to be endured.
Now she blinked, once, then twice; her eyes opening for the first time in hours, squinting as they took in the unfamiliar surroundings with caution.