"Siiiiiiiiigh."

How many sighs did that make since she first started keeping count an hour ago? Twenty? Thirty? Eighty-nine? Lucy didn't know for sure—perhaps short-term memory loss was an affliction of intense boredom.

Or maybe, the bed-ridden girl (more from an unwillingness to go anywhere else than her being unable to get up all) had just found counting the repetitions of her mournful breath just as boring as everything else that she had tried to do to pass the time on an uneventful Sunday—rereading the same VOM novels for the umpteenth time, watching reruns of VOM with Lori and Leni (minus the Blake Bradley swooning, of course), and chatting it up with Haiku about...well, VOM over the phone could only sustain her for so long.

The hope for an escape seemed about as bleak and dark as the clouds on a stormy night, which coincidentally led to her current predicament in the first place.

...

Okay, she could blame herself, too, but the rain definitely played a huge factor in her slipping, then falling down the short flight of the front porch's steps before her right wrist roughly slammed against the cold, wet concrete of the walkway, shattering her bones in the process.

She winced from the memory as she remembered her cries of agony, the sickening crunch ringing in her ears, the vices of pain that snaked up her arm at the speed of the lightning that flashed above her head, her hot tears streaking down her face and mixing in with the pounding rain, and the panic on her family's faces as they all rushed out and saw her helplessly sprawled on the ground.

The horror on Lana's face made her the most uneasy, and she nearly choked up all over again because she knew why.

"She thought it was all her fault," Lucy said, her hair-shrouded gaze falling over her right forearm and the thick, white cast that held her injury in captivity. "She still does."

In her peripheral vision were crumpled-up balls of paper that littered the space around her desk—it gave her good reason to use the word "captivity". In a sense, it was like being buried alive through the perspective of most people. Though she could embrace the feeling of being entombed in the earth with nary a care in the world, others felt swarmed by the suffocating lack of freedom and certainty in their future as they felt their grasp on their life's essence slowly draining out of them.

And that's what her cursed cast did to her by robbing her of the freedom of effectively putting words on paper with her dominant hand, leaving her at the mercy of churning out chicken scratch that would make Lily's penmanship look fit to sign legal documents.

"Siiiiiiiiigh."

She could've been immersed in the world of poetry by now, using the surrounding chaos of her everyday life as her muse to both express her feelings and keep the weight of boredom off her shoulders. But now, all she could do was try to retain any verses her brain casually produced for as long as she could, just until her wrist was healed enough for her to give those words their just dues through competent handwriting.

It was times like these where Lucy really wished she didn't neglect her levitation training. Maybe then, she could make her pen float and properly write down her thoughts.

'I'm supposed to be completely healed in two months. But how long can I last? Can I really make it through this torment without losing my sanity? Or will I be so used to being denied my artistic expression, I'll become a shell of my former self, walking around like a zombie with only my outer visage as a painful reminder of what I once was? Oh, how will Edwin ever love me if that-'

A dull knock against her bedroom door cut off her thoughts and whisked her away from her defeatist spiral before she could be truly submerged under dark, murky waters. Lucy sighed again, this time from relief.

"Come in," she said.

Whomever the visitor was, they were doing a good job at building up suspense (even if it was a little bit) with the slow pushing of the door. Either that or their arms must've lost enough strength to make such a simple task difficult to manage.

About five seconds later, the sight behind her half-open doorway made Lucy figure out that neither of those explanations held any ground.

There was Lana, looking like someone had dragged out Charles by the collar and threw him into the line of heavy traffic. Perhaps it was a bit too morbid of a visual to draw upon, but Lana wasn't giving her much choice—there was the sadness shimmering in her eyes and a quivering frown that reminded her of the way El Diablo (her personal favorite out of all of Lana's pets) slithered around as he sought the opportunity for either mischief or dinner.

Sometimes, both interests wouldn't be mutually exclusive.

Before Lucy could beckon her guest to come forth, she was beaten to the punch when Lana shuffled in and shut the door behind her.

"Uh...hi, Lucy," Lana said, her eyes now focused on her feet.

Lucy attempted to smile to ward off the guilt that she could tell was consuming her little sister, but nothing came except a tiny, half-hearted, crooked grin in the corner of her mouth. Perhaps, she thought, it was too hard to do it when Lana looked fit enough for a funeral.

Minus the appropriate funeral clothes, of course.

"You can come closer if you want," Lucy said.

As Lana took her up on her offer, Lucy wondered how Lana was going to apologize this time. Apparently, giving up her place in line for the bathroom, cleaning her side of the room while she was lounging on the couch, and giving her half of her toaster strudel during breakfast wasn't enough. It was a little disheartening to think of all of Lana's acts of kindness as somewhat annoying, but that was only because Lucy couldn't ignore the underlying repentance of it all.

It seemed like no matter how many times Lucy personally assured her that none of this was her fault, she wouldn't let up. Since when did Lana get the idea that she could've read the future and prevented everything when she wasn't the owner of a crystal ball? Just because she was the one who asked her to help her look for Charles' frisbee in the rain didn't mean that she had to act like she was to blame.

It seemed like her bedside was the closest Lana wanted to be, otherwise she wouldn't clambered into her bed as she usually did. From this proximity, Lucy could see Lana's eyes drifting along her cast. For just a second, she could've sworn she Lana's right eye twinkle, and she couldn't tell if it was from a loose strand of her bangs shimmering against the light of the room or if a blooming tear was responsible.

"Is there something I can do for you?" Lucy asked.

Lana sighed. "I should be saying that to you."

"Lana, for the last time, it wasn't your..." Lucy groaned, noticing how Lana's conviction remained firmly grounded in her sorrowful expression. "Never mind."

Lucy couldn't fool herself no matter how hard she tried—she was really only good at lifting spirits in the supernatural sense. There were plenty of people who were better suited for this kind of thing than she was.

And the first face that popped into her head was that of her brother's. She didn't have to think more than a second for it to make sense. He was always her confidant when she sought the perfect word to cap off her poem or rid her of her deepest insecurities when they troubled her.

And the one thing he always did before he did either of those things was invite her to come closer.

"Look, if you want to do something for me," Lucy said, patting her left hand on the bed, "come up here and talk to me."

Lana hesitated for a moment, but did as she was told and took her spot right next to Lucy. Their shoulders brushed as Lana scooted closer, but she didn't go further than that—Lucy didn't think she was coming off like she didn't want Lana to cuddle up with her, but she supposed she could blame her reputation for not preferring hugs if she could help it. After that, it took Lana a few moments to look towards where she suspected Lucy's eyes were.

"I just wanted to tell you that if you want, I can make some of that blood pudding you like so much," she said, her hands clasped in her lap.

Lucy rolled her eyes, but only because she knew Lana couldn't see her do it. 'Here we go again.'

"I appreciate it, but you don't have to do that," Lucy replied.

"But I−"

Lucy pressed her finger against Lana's lips. "No, you don't, Lana. You've already done enough for me. More than enough, in fact. What happened was an accident. You didn't make me do anything. I wanted to help you."

Lucy let a long pause pass as she watched her sister take her words to heart as she looked away.

...

Or at least, she hoped she was. Much like how most people saw her as unreadable, she couldn't discern whether it was thoughtful consideration or her continuing self-reproach that dominated her thoughts. With her luck, it was probably the latter.

'Not only that, with my luck, I'll probably be the one that gets her thumb crushed under a hammer next,' Lucy thought bitterly.

It was nearly four weeks ago, but the memory of one of Lana's few woodworking mishaps was still fresh in her head. With just how skilled she was with a hammer and nail, it was shocking to hear Lana had clumsily hurt herself after she had...had…

A long grin broke out on Lucy's face. The anomaly must've been magnetic enough to pull Lana's gaze towards her.

"Remember when Luna asked you to build her tiny stage for her amp?" Lucy asked, putting her good hand on Lana's shoulder.

Lana's brow furrowed, a little perturbed by her big sister's exuberant smile more than the odd, seemingly irrelevant nature of her question.

"Yeah," she replied. "She was sick of it digging in the carpet and leaving holes in the floor every time she moved it. What's your point?"

"And do you remember what happened?"

"I...made it for her?"

"Well, yes but you accidentally banged your hammer against your thumb, remember?"

"Ooooooh, that's right. I almost forgot about that."

"So then, do you blame Luna for that happening?"

"What? Of course not. That's silly. I wasn't being careful, and I got nicked in the thumb for it." Lana let out a laugh. "I mean, it's not like Luna wanted me to get hurt, y'know? Why would I blame her for..."

As if a flip had been switched in her brain, Lana's face lit up, here eyes widening and her mouth hanging open.

Lucy's smile grew. "Do you get it now, Lana?"

"Uh...yeah. I get it now." Her cheeks reddened slightly as she smiled sheepishly and rubbed her arm. "Sorry I was being such a weenie."

In a rare act of playful rambunctiousness (maybe Lincoln was rubbing off on her more than she thought he ever could), Lucy took her hand off of Lana's shoulder, slipped it underneath her baseball cap, and ruffled her hair.

"Look, it's okay," Lucy said. "Just promise me that you won't let your guilt eat you alive, okay? I don't want to see the people I love going through that."

Lana nodded. "Okay. Thanks, Luce."

The finality of her tone suggested that she'd be leaving, and Lucy was prepared to be alone again (at least until Lynn came back from her date at the movies with Francisco). She would've glumly accepted as much—it wouldn't be right to ask Lana to stick around longer than she wanted just for her sake. And maybe...maybe Lana sensed that vulnerability from her longing sigh that she let slip out without thinking about it. If that was the case, it would explain what she did next.

Instead of turning to leave, Lana crawled over and snuggled against Lucy's body, sliding her head underneath her chin and wrapping her arms around her torso. She wouldn't be the first to admit that she had a heart to speak of, but that didn't stop a warming sensation from glowing in Lucy's chest, and it spurred her to return the hug with as much love as she could muster with use of only one of her arms.

And although there was nothing but love behind her actions, Lucy couldn't help but think of herself for just a little bit. What she had right now...it would be enough to ward off an eternity of boredom and sadness, let alone a few paltry months. But with that nagging poetry problem in the back of her mind, she quickly found a way to keep Lana's company and keep her poems alive.

That is, if Lana was up for it.

"Hey, Lana?" Lucy asked.

Lana looked up, curiosity in her eyes, "Yeah?"

"There's something that I need help with. You see, I'm not very good at writing with my left hand. Until my right wrist heals, though, it's all I've got to use. I really don't have much of a choice but to improve my left-handed penmanship, but until then, could you help me write my poems?"

Lana reeled back. "Me? You sure?"

"Why not?" Lucy replied with a left-armed shrug. "I'll come up with the words. You just have to write them down. But you don't have to if you don't want to. And if you want to, then do it because you want to help, not because you feel like you owe me anything."

Lucy broke away from the hug and extended her left hand out to Lana. "Deal?"

It didn't take long before a huge grin nearly engulfed Lana's face.

"Deal!" she said and stuck out her own left hand…

...before she jutted her lips out and hawked out a huge loogie past her lips before it splattered against her palm.

Lucy winced knowingly. "Uh...mind if we skip the spit shake?"

"Eh, suit yourself," Lana said, wiping her saliva against her overalls.

The proceeding weeks went by with a blur.

Most of Lucy's afternoons consisted of her calling Lana to her bedroom, sitting at her desk, and writing down whatever inspiration had her focus during that point in time. Lucy couldn't say that Lana's handwriting was anywhere close to being as refined as her cursive penmanship, but it beat whatever her left hand could produce.

And on top of that, it was fun to be somewhat of a mentor to Lana. Often, Lana would have trouble spelling words like "luminous", "stalwart", or "barbaric" and Lucy would instruct her on both the spelling and the definition. The fruits of her labor were harvested three days ago—in what could be considered one of her proudest moments to date, Lucy looked on as Lana had effectively shut down an argument that she and Lola had by calling her sister a "vapid, splenetic ne'er-do-well".

Lucy promised herself that once her wrist was healed, she'd give her a high five for that.