Marie
Prologue: Je vais mourir.
Translation: I am going to die.
Marie was terrified.
Tears streamed down her face, and her sobs were all she could hear. Her heart pounded in her throat. She could hardly breath through her sobs, and every breath of the stuffy air was a struggle. Shivers wracked through her cramped, curled up body. Uncomfortable, wooden boards, pressed into her shoulders, legs, arms, and the top of her head, and splinters dug into her every pore. Cuts from the wood around her covered her body, even reaching underneath the flimsy nightgown she had worn to bed two nights ago.
She was cold, tired, thirsty, and hungry. She was not the, "strong, firm lady," her mother told her she was. Death always brought out people's true colors. And in reality, Marie was a pussy.
(im so so so sorry)
A tortured scream sounded out from not too far off, following the many others that had influenced Marie's new panic. Her sobs helped to reduce the loudness of the screams, but not really. Every single one felt like she was getting plunged into and held under an icy lake. She was suffocating. Though, she figured that would be better than hearing your brother dying. At least it would be quick.
"Toulouse!" Another yell shot through the cold air, but it was a different voice. Berlioz. Marie had heard him get tortured, too.
"Shut, up," a much deeper voice responded, and Marie heard a thump. She whimpered. Her hands went to cover her ears, and bile rose in her throat.
"Leave him alone!" The voice that had been screaming in pain earlier spoke, but every word sounded like it was a struggle to get out. There was a grunt by the deep voice, and Toulouse screamed.
"You bastard! Vas te faire encule! VAS TE FAI-"
"
You-"
"
Berlioz, don't," Maria sobbed. Her brother was going to make the torture even worse.
Let us die already.
"
Listen to the bitch!"
"
I am a lady!" she choked out. There was a thump, and Toulouse grunted. Footsteps approached Marie, and she hard a scratching sound on the top of the box. Suddenly, the top flew off, and light filled Marie's eyes.
As did the face of the man her Uncle hired to kill her.
"
Get away from me," she hissed, and she tried to move away. Her legs and arms had been cramped in the box for so long that she couldn't even move them to do what she so desperately wanted. Her heart thumped fast, and she thought that he may even of been able to hear it.
"
Come here, lady." The man grabbed the scruff of her nightgown and dragged her across the floor so she was laying in the middle of it. She clumsily tried to get up, but desperately failed. Her eyes went wide with terror.
It was hopeless.
Je- Je vais mourir.
~~~
Marie stood in the middle of the street, the seventeen year old holding herself with dignity and authority. Sharp, blue eyes gazed around, and she had on much better clothing than the nightgown she had died in.
The little French lady walked around, seeing an "Afterlife Training Center." She frowned.
"
Is this some kind of joke?" Her French accent may have been a little hard to understand.