The water was everywhere.
Ruby did not remember falling. She was simply there. In the dark. In the cold. In something that was not quite water and not quite nothing, pressing against her skin, filling her lungs, filling her mind.
She could not breathe.
She should not be able to breathe. There was water in her throat, in her chest, in the spaces where air should have been. But she did not choke. Did not drown. Did not die.
The water was inside her and she was still thinking, still feeling, still aware of the pressure of something that should have killed her and was, instead, keeping her suspended.
The light was above her. Pale. She tried to reach for it, and her arms would not move. Tried to call out, and her voice would not come. The water held her. The dark held her.
Something was watching her from the edges of the world, and she could not turn her head to see it.
