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White walls, dusty carpet, stuffy couches. No windows, just doors. Doors that led to hallways that led to rooms that led to more doors and more hallways and more rooms. Scar had been here since he won the game. Or rather, he could only remember being here.
Everyone preferred to stay close to the first room they appeared in. They wouldn't get lost if they didn't wander too far. When Scar first showed up in this place, Pearl, Scott, Grian and Martyn were also here. After a while, Joel appeared. Scar had spoken to Scott, Grian, Martyn and Joel. They all remembered winning a game; Martyn remembered winning two of them. They compared stories. Each of them remembered a different game; different rules, different alliances, different paths to victory. But one thing every game had in common was bloodshed.
Pearl in this place was different from the Pearl that Scar remembered in the game he won. In his game, Pearl was loyal, caring, sometimes bloodthirsty. Here, Pearl was withdrawn. She looked exhausted. An ugly scar cut through one of her eyes. She had dark eyebags. Her cheeks were sunken and hollow. Her red cloak was frayed. No one here looked fresh, but Pearl looked the worst of them all. She would avoid the first room.
When Scott would approach her, Pearl would bristle at him, though when wasn't facing her, sometimes she'd give a wistful look in his direction. Martyn she'd ignore. When Joel first appeared, she punched him. Afterwards, she would glare daggers whenever he was in the same room. Grian she seemed to tolerate. She would allow him to come close, she would give short answers to his questions. But Scar was the only one she would approach first.
Occasionally, Pearl would come sit or stand by Scar. She never started a conversation, but she seemed to trust him the most out of everyone here. Scar did not know if he deserved it. After all, in his game, he had been the one to kill her.
Pearl's death haunted him more than any other death in his game. Maybe it was because she was the last person he killed. Maybe it was because he hadn't expected it—technically, she hadn't died by his hands. Maybe it was because when he descended to find her, expecting her to attack him, all he found was her laying there, glassy-eyed, still warm. He shook her. She would get up any moment now, any moment she'd kill him. But he was alone. When he dragged her corpse up to bury her, he was alone. Maybe that's why Pearl's death haunted him. Because when she died, he was well and truly alone. He was the only soul left in that godforsaken world.
The sound of a door opening pulled Scar out of his memories. He looked over. It was Pearl. She sat down next to Scar. They sat still for what could have been minutes or what could have been hours. Then, Scar unpinned a sunflower from his cloak. He leaned over to Pearl and pinned it to her cloak.
"I'm sorry," Scar said.
"What are you sorry for?" Pearl replied. Then, she turned away and whispered, "Thank you. Thank you for caring about me."