[and in the cottage, iris finds herself suddenly holding a clarinet. not that she really notices since she's choking, musical sounds escaping her throats as she struggles to breathe]
[ Gladiolus' axe and knife are now an oboe and piccolo respectively. she doesn't notice the change, or how inappropriately cute her dying breaths are as she wheezes them out, hands at her throat in panic. ]
[ She lets the strange metal flute fall with a clatter as she moves to catch them, but their bodies slip to dead weight in her arms.
It's so close in here... she has to.... has to get them outside— ] Fuck—
[ —dragging them both backwards is harder with her own heavy, panicked breathing. She lays them carefully on the surface of the roof outside the cottage. ]
No— [ she tries to part their mouths with her hands, anything to help them breathe ]
[ she presses her head against each of their ribcages in turn, trying to listen for air in their lungs, a heartbeat, but part of her already knew what she would hear—or rather, not hear. ]
No, no...
[ her hand is at her mouth. just like in her memory, she bites at the skin between her thumb and forefinger trying not to scream.
but biting down hurts, and who is she even hiding her anger from?
alone on top of the building, she screams anyway. ]
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for a moment, her throat won't work, and she thinks she is choking too, but no, it's just the lingering effects of her body held in place. ]
What... [ she is rushing to them, trying to support their bodies, but it's hard in the close quarters of the cottage ] ... what is this—
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bye]
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sorry, stabmom. ]
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It's so close in here... she has to.... has to get them outside— ] Fuck—
[ —dragging them both backwards is harder with her own heavy, panicked breathing. She lays them carefully on the surface of the roof outside the cottage. ]
No— [ she tries to part their mouths with her hands, anything to help them breathe ]
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[ she presses her head against each of their ribcages in turn, trying to listen for air in their lungs, a heartbeat, but part of her already knew what she would hear—or rather, not hear. ]
No, no...
[ her hand is at her mouth. just like in her memory, she bites at the skin between her thumb and forefinger trying not to scream.
but biting down hurts, and who is she even hiding her anger from?
alone on top of the building, she screams anyway. ]