An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works
Molly spits the blood and the dirt in Lorenzo's face and watches his expression sour. He hears him say, “Respect,” and feels the blade twist. Knows, fundamentally, as readily as he knows his own name most days, that there is no surviving something that feels like this. No, he tries to say, but his lips do not move. No, not yet— His consciousness fades, an ever-shrinking point of light in a sea of endless black. Molly flails, lashing motionlessly out for anything at all, and among wordless curses and pleas, he steels himself one more time, grits his teeth or thinks he does, and demands, No.
Molly dies. Molly wakes up. Molly dies. Molly wakes up. Molly dies. Molly wakes up.
Some paths are not meant to be trod so thin.
It's finally time!!! This is the opening/prelude chapter to what I affectionately call my molly on repeat fic, in which Molly's entire life functions as a time loop!
