future/vague/idk: in our bedroom during the war
Many nights, Lily Evans lay in bed, staring the ceiling, wondering, thinking, fearing what was to come. She usually stared with a blank expression, arms folded over the sheets covering her mostly naked body.
The fights, lights flashing before her eyes. Screams, running, assuring James she was alright, it was just a bruise. The first man she killed earlier, that she had to kill, even though Frank had given her a long lecture afterwards.
She rolled onto her side, away from James, her body shaking with her silent sobs, tears streaming down her face. She killed a man. Lily Evans killed a man and was no longer above those on the other side.