#that one convo reminded me of this lil guy in my drafts

[bechloesupercorp]

She doesn't know what day it is.

It could be weeks upon weeks, or maybe even just one, long, treacherous day. They leave her here, dangling by her wrists in the middle of an empty warehouse. A cruel coincidence really, to be awaiting rescue in the same position she had once had that FBC guy, Matteo, in.

They were coming to rescue her. 

Right? 

Of course, she chides herself, We took vows to serve and protect our sisters. However, they also took vows to uphold the objectives of the OCS – including leaving one of their own. 

No, she whispers to herself. Ava wouldn't leave her. 

Ava, who glows with warmth, unlike the chill that reaches Bea's bones. It creeps, deeper and deeper, into the crevices of her soul, fighting the occasional hunger pang. The tips of her fingers are numb, and so are her toes, as she swings and shivers helplessly. Stripped of her gear, her undershirt, pants, and the black sack that obscures her vision do nothing against the nighttime chill. It's funny – nights never felt this cold before, when she'd stumble home from the bar with Ava in her arms.

Ava. She'd give everything to see her smile again. Maybe, if she could just utter the words, she would tell her that she loves her, has loved her, since that moment outside Mother Superion's office. 

Sometimes, when she opens her eyes to the black nothingness, she blinks and can see all the moments that she's ever cherished with the halo bearer. At the beginning, it gave her conviction to resist the torture. A metal pipe to the stomach, endless barrage of fists, shallow cuts from her captors' knives. Divine punishment is what they had called it, screaming and yelling at her to give up the halo bearer and her sisters at the OCS. She'd refused, without doubt, even as they'd loosened the chains and given her a moment of reprieve, before tilting her slightly upside down and pouring gallon after gallon over the cloth stuck over her head.

The sack clung to her face, giving her no space to breathe. Her heart rate accelerated, lungs deprived of oxygen. All those morning runs did little to combat the weakness that fell over her as she hacked as much water out of her lungs before the next round. Over and over, until she was just weakly spasming on the concrete, moaning Ava's name and asking for the strength to survive.

Maybe it's been a few days. It would make the most sense, given all that's been done, though that doesn't prevent the shiver that runs up her spine when she realises what that means. She's been abandoned. Like the way she was at the boarding school, alone with barely anything of value. That's it. She's reached full circle. She's taken her vows of poverty and chastity, her vows of endless service and this will be her last service – withering away, alone, in some warehouse in Switzerland for the others to make their escape. 

It's completely silent. The FBC's interrogation tactic of choice – leaving prisoners alone with their thoughts to suffer. Blood still drips down her back, down her sides, slow and steady. It makes her slightly lightheaded, so she lets her head hang, comforted by the thought of an end. Everything is cold, but her heart is warmed by the love she has been given in this life. In the next, she promises, and lets herself let go.