The woman sat alone in a white room, silent as she stared off into space. Dark curls framed her pale face, blue eyes gazing at the wall thoughtfully. She was dressed in a white lab coat, black shirt, and normal jeans that led to dark boots - nothing formal about her except the covering. Squinting, her mouth was open slightly as if to speak, but no one was around.
Then, the door opened. A white door, with a white room, a white chair, a white desk, and a white bed. She was in the chair, and didn't even turn when she heard the hinges creak, not facing who had entered. Frowning though, she knew what they were about to say. They wanted to talk about him. She did, too.
"You can't sit in here all day," They said, feminine with a hint of an accent - sort of Native American.
She was silent for a while. Then, "I don't understand what went wrong." She herself had an American accent. When the female behind her didn't answer, she continued. "He died, didn't he? That was what she said would happen. So why did he…?"
"Because it kept going," The woman answered vaguely.
"But why?" She pushed for answers, but knew they didn't have any. "There must be a reason… isn't there?"
"The reason is simple," She explained. "He wasn't ready."
"He wasn't ready," The girl turned to face her. "Or she wasn't ready?"
The woman she faced was a tall individual, with long straight black hair and bright azule eyes like her. Almost like a cat, with the way the pupils were slitted. Her skin was a warm but dark tone, revealing her Native ethnicity. She wore black ripped jeans and a matching tank top, fingerless gloves on her hands and nails painted black. Her feet were bare.
"That's impossible," She said after a moment. "She's… she's not…"
"But what if she is?" The girl sitting answered, then stood up. "What if it's all-?"
"Don't say it," The woman held up her hand, a grimace of pain on her face. "Don't… give me hope. We both know the truth."
She was silent. "Then what do we do?"
"We wait," The woman said simply. "For him to die, one final time."