She's Not Dead

Chapter 11: Anything at All

Hours later, the midday sunbeams streamed through the gaps of the partially closed curtains. With and intake of breath Wendy woke up to the hushed voices of her nieces having a conversation.

"How long have you been awake?" She asked both, startling them.

"Morning!" Freya smiled.

"I'm pretty sure it's noon by now." Ingrid replied.

Wendy laughed, the vibrations rumbling in her chest enough for Ingrid and Freya to feel them, their heads bobbing with their movement, "How did you sleep?"

"Like a baby." Said Ingrid, Freya nodded in agreement.

"You're very comfy." The youngest said with a sleepy sigh.

"Should I be glad or..."

Both chuckled, "Oh no, you should totally be glad!" Ingrid chimed.

"Aunt Wendy?" Freya's small voice came.

"Hmm?"

"What was it like?" She asked and Ingrid remained silent.

"What was what like?" Wendy asked, confused.

"In... Hell?"

Wendy almost choked, she tensed. Ingrid wished her sister had not asked the moment she felt the muscles underneath her arm contract. Wendy's breath felt like it was being held hostage in her lungs, the memories, the sensations like ghosts on her skin—they became too much for the black-haired witch. She didn't want to remember; she didn't want to subject her nieces to the horrors of that place.

"It's okay, Aunt Wendy. You don't have to tell us..." Freya whispered, she, too had felt how her aunt had become guarded. Being pressed at her side she could feel the rigidness of the soft body underneath her.

Wendy sighed, "Girls, the Underworld is something I wish you never have the conscience to experience. It's a torment for eternity—us, witches, get tormented for eternity."

"But you were't there for eternity..." Ingrid whispered, was she curious or comforting? She didn't know.

Wendy wanted to laugh; she really did. Granted, she came back to her family, but Elena's anger and thirst for vengeance had been released upon her body, feeling things that she would only wish on her worst enemies, and maybe not even them. Things she was not about to tell her nieces, things she would never tell Joanna.

"Well, I think it's time for me to get out of bed!" She exclaimed, changing the topic of conversation as she stretched her arms from under Ingrid and Freya, something to which they both groaned at. They had been having a nice and peaceful time with their aunt, until the question. Warm, loved, and protected.

The older witch chuckled and slid her arms from under her nieces, "You can stay here if you wanna, I'm just gonna see if your mother's around."

And with that she sat and started removing herself from the bed, pushing herself up with her hand on Ingrid's body. She gasped, images flashing before her eyes and she couldn't stop them—visions.

Ingrid was in the bathroom, she looked troubled with her eyebrows pinched up and the normally soft lines on her youthful face looking harder than ever. She was clutching something in her hands, an object that resembled a stick. The image was gone before she could look at it again closely.

Another one.

Ingrid, her hands over her swollen stomach. Swollen? A baby...

Another.

Dash appeared beside Ingrid; both standing. Everyone was there, everyone was smiling. They were all happy. Dash's left arm rested on Ingrid's shoulder while his other hand drew circles on her stomach.