It was horrible. To see her family and friends in such agony was torture to her. She wanted to reach out, touch a hand, stroke a cheek, wipe tears away and offer comforting words.
She could hear them. Celeste heard all of their hopes and fears for her. And after a while, their casual, yet strained conversations when worrying grew tiresome.
But the thing she could stand the least was the silence. The thick, impenetrable silence as they simply watched, and wondered. Celeste yearned to speak and tell them that she was there, listening. That she was still alive inside. And not to give up on her, she would come out, as soon as she found a way.

The coma couldn’t last forever.

Especially when she was so, so close to the surface. Almost close enough to break through, but not quite. Not quite, because she would always be dragged back deep, deep down in the dark. Into the other world that was unlike anything she’d ever known. And it was fighting with the one above for possession of her.

But she was fighting too…