Member-only story
Daughter of a Thousand Suns
She was not meant for this world.
In the tank, she lived and died a hundred times.
In her brief bursts of consciousness, she could see through the clear encasing around her to white-jacketed individuals studying her closely. No one seemed alarmed by her strange ability to catch fire and then, miraculously, recover from the inside of her own inferno.
Those long, yawning moments of being surrounded by flames didn’t last forever — but that was the simple part. Burning yourself alive was easy; being assured that your body would resurface, intact, and stitch itself back together — there was no guarantee there.
And somehow even worse were the headaches that made her feel like her skull was ready to split open. When she was in the haze of pain, she couldn’t remember anything — her name, her birthplace, even the amount of time she’d lived in this skin.
There was one thing she did know: she wasn’t like the people who observed her. They were cold, detached, clinical; no sign of emotion betrayed them.
That made it so much harder when she thought of how she could try to escape.
Escape. The word seemed like a fantasy born from another time and place. It did not feel like something she could own or claim for herself.
