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Under the cover of night, in the in-between of winter and spring, Lottie slips away, slips to the lake, the waves parting gently but the cold as sharp as a blade splitting her skin.
She turns her head, towards the glint she saw that first fall, sees the illusion of whispering flames and smoke clouding the night as they curdle together between trees.
Her damp hair feels as if it's ablaze, flames crawling up split ends. She feels hot all over, as her eyes meet the dancing smoke only she can see the memory of.
Lottie remembers fire, her gentle fire, as she dipped her back into the water, bubbles bursting from her lips, eyes clouded by the horrors brought to her by the wilderness.
Oh, if only Laura Lee had known then, how she had gotten off easy, a cruel part of Lottie thinks.
Her pruny fingers curl in the water, and she shakily lifts her hand, stares down at it blankly, feels something in her take form, hold.
Laura Lee's gentle hands on her shoulder and back, her light eyes on her. Oh, how Lottie misses it, her memory now forbidden, in this deep darkness.
In the water, Lottie remembers, yet sees nothing but smoke, cabin up in flames like that cursed plane, like Laura Lee's burning body, that which she cannot see, but can be sensed, cutting as the cold of the water, warm as flames on her shoulders and back, firm yet welcoming, bringing her home.