The Sentinels what if the storm ends, and i don't see you

she sleeps as the forest burns. safe within the wet mould of an alcove deep within the grounds lit by fire, she feels nothing but warmth. she dreams of blurred faces, a pale woman, the sunlight, the sheer luminescence that just manages to escape the shadows of her birth home that fills her with such happiness. her haven does not last long and in a mere instant, the earth is set ablaze. her eyes are taken from her first as hot earth rains upon the girl, and she wails; letting loose a stifled cry that none will hear. she does not stop screaming as the fire engulfs her hair, her legs, her face. 

but she does not awake from her sleep.

it is within her dream that she burns, and she thrashes underneath the blackened soil, struggling to find solace. time does not exist as instinct begins the fight for survival; seconds, minutes, hours will pass before her struggle wears away and the sky halts it's assault upon her. witchhazel is numb as she lay in the rubble of rock and dirt; she does not feel the burns that will never heal, or the scars that will leave her broken and beyond repair. delayed breaths, a faint, laboured heave of her breast is the only indication that she lives; but she passes through the unconscious and the lucid, unable to gather the ability to bring herself from the scorching hell she is nested in. 

witchhazel lays steaming, unrecognisable between the battle of fire and life; dying.