Work Text:
It feels wrong, wrong to wake up.
To be alone again.
To be here.
The sky shines bright in contrast to the horror of this place, the beams of sunlight shining against the scratchy wood of the treehouse floor, covered barely by the rug that had been her bed. The rug she woke up on.
Her legs are intact, her hair long, her clothes uncomfortably thin. Is this reality? Is this the truth of existence? Is life just reliving the same life over and over again?
Crawling over to the door, she peeked it open, watching the sight of her old home that she had most definitely almost forgotten. Next to her was a hammer.
She knew what to do, even if this was only a dream. A cruel, twisted dream.
She was Clementine, and she would survive. Like she always had.