What Remains of Her

The world returns slowly. Virelle’s eyes open to a ceiling of metal beams and rusted lamps.
For a moment she simply breathes. Her vision feels strange. Too sharp.
Dust drifting in the air.
Hairline cracks in the walls. Then she hears it.
Tick.
Tick.
Tick.
A steady mechanical rhythm. Her brow tightens.
She tries to move.
A soft whir answers.
Her arm rises.
Too smoothly. Her gaze lowers.
Metal fingers.
Brass plates.
Moving gears. For a long moment she cannot breathe. Across the room Corven sits slumped against a workbench, pale and covered in dried blood.
His hands tremble.
He watches her wake up. …Corven? Her voice sounds distant even to herself. …what happened to me? Silence fills the workshop. And then something in her memory shifts. Dark tunnels.
Collapsing stone.
Corven carrying her through the ruins.
Her chest burning.
Blood.
So much blood. Her gaze drifts around the room.
Surgical tools lie scattered across the floor.
Pages filled with frantic diagrams.
Mechanical organs.
Replacement systems.
Some of the notes are smeared with dried blood. Her eyes return to Corven.
Only then does the truth settle into place.
He didn’t change her.
He saved her.