The fire burned like a thousand suns in her leg and her hip, then spread through her body until it blinded her eyes with white-hot pain, leaving her sightless. She was aware of nothing around her. Time and space disappeared. It was only Catalina. Not her body, but her essence, her awareness. The fire had faded, but was still there, smoldering in the background of her consciousness.
There was a rhythmic sound, muffled, but growing louder.
Tick-tick-ticking.
Still muffled.
But growing louder.
Ah, footsteps. The sound was the rhythmic tapping of someone walking on cobblestones. It echoed off the alleyway walls that closed around her.
It was Catalina, but not the Catalina on the table. She was walking through her memories. And she was not alone. Her trusted valet, McCrimmon, accompanied her.
She remembered this day. It was her first day in England, the day before she was to start her university training to become a teacher.
It would be the last day McCrimmon accompanied her anywhere.
The Catalina on the table closed her eyes and tried to look away, but she was still there with herself, walking.
She tried warning her younger self not to go any farther. Go back, go back! Get back to the ship!
But the tick-tick-ticking of the footsteps continued.
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