Chapter Text
With the smell of burning flesh stuck in her nose, she awoke to the jarring of a train.
Her hand twitched to her waist, grasping at nothing. Outside her seat’s window, trees rapidly passed by. She could still remember the warmth of her pokeballs, the feeling of hard-earned scratches and indents on her fingertips.
Clenching her empty fists, she gazed out the window.
The shaking from the train was starting to get to her. Out of the corner of her eyes, the trainseats’ red leather began to bleed into flashing red lights. The screech of a braking train, an alarm.
The train stuttered to a stop. She grabbed her carry-on, sweating as she pulled it to her chest. It was big and annoying and ugly; she stole it from the elderly woman who was supposedly her grandmother. She had told the old woman that she was going to spend the night at a friend’s house, the weight of her lies lighter than the bag that held all of her belongings.
After all, she no longer had any friends. They were gone, just like everything and everyone else she had ever known.
Her shoes slapped against the pavement as she stepped off. People and pokemon of all sizes and colors and cultures stepped out from behind her in a rush, barely sparing her anything other than a glance and a huff.
By now, she was steady on her feet. A couple of months ago, the height difference would have caused problems. Even the hair that was just long enough to touch her shoulders felt normal; the memory of her real face and her real eyes becoming a distant memory with every passing day.
This was not her body, but there was no one except her to say otherwise anymore.
It had only been a couple of months since she had woken up to bright white lights, the strong smell of rubbing alcohol, and beeping. It had only been seconds prior to her eyes sliding open when she and Calem had watched as Lysandre slammed his hand over the button, his booming voice drowned out by an explosion.
One second, she had felt Calem’s hand on her wrist, harshly pulling her back. The next, only rough, itchy cotton from the white bedsheets bunched around her fists.
From that moment on, she had been ushered around by a frail, older woman and her absol. The old woman had informed her that she had been attacked while walking home from her job at a coffee shop one late night. She had been robbed and left for dead. A good samaritan had called for an ambulance, and, miraculously, she had been somehow revived.
The old woman’s granddaughter was named Harmony.
Serena had not had it within her to tell her that Harmony had died the same day Serena must have.
She forced herself to move forward, her feet dragging against the cobblestone. Before she knew it, the train that had brought her here began to screech forward, slowly but surely.
As the cobblestone walls of the train station disappeared behind her, Serena shut her eyes against the sun’s harsh light, her bag’s leather straps creaking from under her palm.
Luckily, this time, the warmth from its rays did not feel like it was burning her alive.