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The waves lap against the shore quietly, the sound washed away by the cool breeze. The survivors are having fun behind her, far behind her - playing around, no longer in fear, enjoying a moment of relaxation before this match ends and the next match starts and they have to fight for their lives again.
She sees none of it. Only the waves.
Idly, she traces the wood on the banister, old but surprisingly strong like the ship itself - she tosses down a pebble and watches it hit the sand below, sending a small spray of water. Who sailed this ship before it ran aground? The gloom below seems dark and vast. Whose stories were lost in this village by the lake? How many voices were silenced here?
Her throat constricts, for a second. She coughs, and the feeling passes. The weight of stitches on her neck make her cough again.
"Mary?"
Oh, blossoms and birdsong. A melodic voice sounds at her back, gentle and soothing - a bit concerned. Mary doesn't respond, instead scratching an M into the wooden railing. M, I, C-
"Are you alright? I haven't seen you all match, so I assumed we were going to let the little ones go this time. They are having fun without us."
Mary exhales quietly and pushes off from where she was slumped against the banister, standing up straighter. Her gaze still extends over the water, searching vainly for light over the horizon. Mist brushes at her ankles.
"... I'm just a bit lost right now. I wanted some time alone to think. Please excuse my absence, and lack of warning."
Somehow, they understand each other here. Their words flow smoothly like rainwater together, the language of something deeper. Nothing needs to be said out loud to be understood.
Michiko takes her place to the left, and offers Mary a smile that she catches out of the corner of her eye. The clouds part ever so slightly, and weak sunlight glints off of her weapon. She sets it down. Michiko places her fan next to it.
"It's no trouble. We are all thankful for the rest, I assure you."
Mary responds to that with a noncommittal hum, then another sigh. She's so, so tired. It has been just a few weeks weeks since her arrival at the manor, and she has been through nothing and everything. Trying to escape the manor was a valiant effort, but one doomed to certain failure - though she's made some ... friends, among the hunters and survivors alike, something still nags at her. She's restless. And so exhausted. She can't settle down. Like a broken puppet, a marionette posed for the crowd, dancing, dancing-
A touch at her shoulder distracts Mary from her thoughts. Michiko holds out something to her, with a placating smile - something small, soft, with a blush of color, lays gentle in her hand - "I found this by the small boat. I thought it may bring you a little bit of joy."
It's a daisy.
A pink one, soft and sweet, wet with mist - a little battered, but a miracle nonetheless, pale petals vibrant in the gloom of this ghost village.
"... I thought nothing grew here," Mary says, struck, as Michiko gently tucks the flower behind her ear.
"Flowers can grow anywhere with a bit of love," Michiko replies. Her gaze is soft.
Mary thought she had no more blood left in her after the - well, after. But her face heats under Michiko's pleased appraisal - she was wrong. Something still runs through her veins - fire, or ambrosia. It warms when she's next to her. It makes her feel breathless. Not in a way that makes her want to cough, but in a way that makes her want to sing.
Mary turns away, choppy white hair hiding her face from view as she gazes once more at the gentle waves, violets blooming in her cheeks.
"... Yes, I suppose you're right."