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Summary
After everything went to black, Clover asked themselfs if this was how death was. If they had anyone to wonder.
It was too dark to see, too silent to hear, too empty to even think about it. A little more and they could feel the cold, hard glass of the container they're inside, trapped for who knows how long. It could be hours, it could be days, or it could be centuries.
It feels like centuries, until it doesn't.
And a dark, misterious ceiling with a light too bright welcomes them. It's not a warm welcome.