Work Text:
Meg found herself in the ruins of her home.
She didn't remember it all that well - she'd been so young when she left, so young when Nero had taken and raised her in a sleek, gilded cage, but she wasn't sure that she could forget it either.
Her feet found where the corridors would have been through a combination of instinct and blurry, detached memories. Where there should have been wood or grass or leaf was nothing but aching, parched earth and blistering desert sky. She walked amongst the debris and let herself be silent. She occupied the quiet around her, listened and wavered with the whistle of wind and the distant echoes of the life she had left behind.
The debris was minimal. Her tears were not.