borkthemork: cyndavilachase: After. ❤️ The steps had been the hardest part for Marcy. Walking h
borkthemork: cyndavilachase: After. ❤️ The steps had been the hardest part for Marcy. Walking had become incomprehensible when one remained in the hospital’s guise. It wasn’t impossible, Marcy could use crutches, she knew how to work them under her armpits. She knew what that process entailed, but even with the muscle deterioration and the circumstances that lead up to this point, it was still a struggle to handle each moment she got. Or the moment she had before that. Or the moment before that. That didn’t mean Marcy didn’t enjoy the moments where she rested. The only times where she felt sheer calm came down to the hospital, where the smell of pure alcohol and dry air soothed her to relaxing, where the reruns of Monarch of the Necklaces blipped above in the corner of her room. And in the corner of the room, she’d have a visitor. Mr. Boonchuy, Mrs. Boonchuy, the Plantars, anyone who decided that Marcy was of their time — of their pity. Pity. Was that the right word? Marcy didn’t know which term to use anymore. It was hard to really think about motives or reasons without some part of herself aching. But they came and went. Gave her gifts, hugs, a few awkward talks to occupy the time. The awkwardest of them came from the person who visited consecutively for weeks straight. The same person who Marcy wished to avoid the most out of her return, but sadly the universe didn’t give her that wish. Anne had always been stubborn. Marcy knew this ever since they were kids, when Anne found her in some lone elementary corner; and during Amphibia, where Anne mouthed Marcy’s lips, right before their separation at the failed insurrection. She should’ve known that same person would then rest by her bedside. Focused on her and her monitor. Hand covering hers. The last part didn’t make sense. Keep reading -- source link
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