"Why in the hell would I go through another door?" Sunday did not speak much, but when she did, it was clear she was truly annoyed with whatever had gotten her to snap out like that. She was compelled to do so, and yet she fought every step of the way. Neither door had been a pleasant experience, so why -

She was at the door now, and she huffed with indignation. She did not like being told what to do.

When she touched the doorknob, the flashes of her life began. That's what they always said, when you were about to die. You see your life flashing before your eyes. She supposed it was about time.

Time.

The realization of what she truly is now comes over her, and it comes easily to her. She tried to fight against the feeling that she was no longer a she, but a they, and yet - even as the vines surrounded her, she wondered why she'd ever fight the feeling of belonging. She'd never had it before.

This was not death. Just something new. She sighed out one final breath, and then breathed her first as something else, something other.

This was acceptance.

As soon as she considered it, something tore her away. She was free from whatever had begun to take her over, and there was a sense of relief coupled with a sense of loss. She hadn't been good enough - she hadn't been complete - something was missing, lacking, always lacking, God, not again--

Her new body began to form as she reached for it, hands extending because she thought they would, and feet stepping because that was what they did. It didn't matter that this new body was not hers, and was not flesh and bone. As long as it responded the way a body did, that had to be enough for now.

She searched, because something told her it was right, and found - not her own body - but the face of a man. She remembered the face as if she'd dreamed him, and reached out to brush the vines that consumed him away. He was blonde, and big - God, he was almost as big as grandpa, or maybe bigger. She couldn't tell from here. She remembered the feeling of being smashed under him, and yet - no matter how clumsy, and no matter how ridiculous, he'd saved her.

He was tender, and defiant, and strong. He saved her, and he tried to save someone else, too. Not once did he ever abandon her, even when he had to fight.

He was a Good Guy.

The vines moved away, as if they could hear her thoughts. They slowly released him, and he fell like a lump on the ground. She tried to pick him up the way he'd done for her, but in the end all she could do was roll him towards the stairs. Every step she took became harder, as pieces of herself fell away. She knew she could manage to make it, but there was no way she would survive. Still, he'd saved her. He deserved a chance to live.

His face, even unconscious, shone like sunlight that fed her the will to keep going. Even when she was nothing more than a tiny lump of what she'd once been, she nudged his giant body down the final stairs, where his own kind were waiting. She retreated then, but watched just long enough to see them drag him away.

He was going to save someone else, one day.

She returned to the center of Creation, and felt the brush of others who'd given in like she had. She reached for them all, because it was all she'd ever wanted, in the end. Acceptance. Home. A place where she belonged.

She drifted between their memories in her own, and found peace.