(no subject)
It isn't the island. It isn't the hatch. It's a cold, bare patch of land, some place that looks as if it's been hit by a nuclear war. The only movement she makes is to clutch the front of her buttoned down shirt, and the only happiness she feels is because of the shirt. If she's stepped into a nightmare, she wants to wake up. If this is another quirk of the island, she wishes it'd stop being so strange.