“The only people I know capable of proving that aren’t here,” she said. Her thoughts turned then to the Luteces, and whether or not they would ever show up there. While a small part of her hoped they wouldn’t-- because if they did, she feared for their safety with Booker around-- the bigger part of her hoped that their appearance might prove it was entirely possible to escape Marrowood. After all, they were not as confined as the rest of them were.
But her lips tightened as she thought more about her experience at Rapture, and at how it ended. She knew she shouldn’t have mentioned her death to Hermione. She had barely spoken about it to Booker, so why she would have told Hermione seemed a bit odd for her. All the same, she knew it had been a necessary truth, to shed light on the violent contrast in situations.
“I...well, the man who did it was not the kind to leave anything unfinished,” she said carefully. “He used a wrench, several times against my head. I felt...dizzy, light-headed. I could barely see, I could barely move. Then I didn’t feel anything anymore, and everything went black.”
She spoke as though she was drifting off into a dream-like tangent, her eyes falling to the table in front of her. If she was being totally honest, she might have admitted she could still feel the way the wrench had hit against her head, or the way the needle he had used to almost lobotomise her felt going into her skull.
“I saw my own death before it happened, and I walked to it willingly. I know I died.”