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She wonders if Coin would be late to fewer things if she gave her a teleportation power.

She's saying so, to Sherlock.

And then instead of the ruins of flooded Europe she's in a featureless white room facing some grumpy person in a blue robe, wearing everything she was wearing, less her coin bandolier but including her crown, and something's wrong, her thoughts are slow and won't speed up, her memory's as slippery as it ever was before she met Stella, and how did she get here, why doesn't the brainphone work, where's Sherlock?

Where are her coins? Where's her magic? She can't teleport either, not even across the room - she bites her lip just a little and she can't even remember how moving pain left to right is a thing and it goes right on stinging without regenerating -

Where is she?
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The grumpy person in the doorway speaks. In addition to being grumpy, she also appears bored.

"Bell Swan, please come forward to receive your sentence papers."
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"My what? Where am I?"

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She holds out a very thin file folder in Bell's direction.

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"Where am I? What happened?"

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"Take the folder," she says sharply. "Go down the hall. Ask your annoying questions at someone who's paid to answer them."

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Shell Bell takes the folder and steps tentatively into the hall.

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There are two directions to go in; the robed woman points at the correct one.

The hall is lined with rooms identical to the one Shell Bell just left, except that where hers has an open doorway with no door, these have seamless walls with small windows at roughly head height. Each of the rooms along the left side of the hall contains exactly one person, standing upright, eyes closed. Under each of those windows is a plaque with a number on it. The right side of the hall has a line of empty rooms with blank plaques, broken by Bell's open doorway, and continuing on in a line of more occupied rooms with numbers beneath them.

As soon as Bell steps out of her room, a wall fades into place behind her, empty plaque and all. The blue-robed woman moves on to the next occupied room along that side.
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Bell goes down the hall.

She trips. Fuck, her magic is really all gone. She's surprised the crown stayed.

She can't not check.

Nope. She can't fly. Of course she can't fly.

And of course she doesn't have her fire wand anymore. Much good may it do Juliet.

She wants to go home.

She goes down the hall, walking carefully-carefully-carefully.
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The hall goes on for a while; it's about an hour's walk, past occasional junctions, to reach the central office. Hard to get lost, though: the corridors leading off the main one are all short, heading off at right angles and turning backward, and Bell just has to keep walking in a straight line. And the line of empty rooms to Bell's right is unbroken.

At the end, there is a door. On the other side of the door, there is a desk. Behind the desk, there is a friendly-looking woman wearing a fuzzy pink sweater.

"Hi!" she says. "Bell Swan?"
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"...Yes. Where am I? What happened? Where did all my magic go?"

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"You're dead," she says gently.

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"I - what? How could I have died? My regen should've taken care of anything short of -"

She stops.

"Kraken," she mutters. "Okay, if I'm dead, why am I - aware?"
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"This is the afterlife," she explains. "It happens to everyone. But there's no going back, so people don't know about it until they get here."

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"I - can I see anything that's going on with live people even if I can't communicate with them? Sherlock - Tony - my parents - they'll be devastated - my empire -"

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She shakes her head.

"You'll see most of them eventually," she offers. "You have the rest of eternity to look forward to."
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"No, they're going to live forever, like I was, as soon as they find out what happened to me they'll patch the hole and it'll never happen again," Shell Bell says, burying her hands in her hair. "Sherlock still has magic, she won't let Tony die, she wouldn't let herself die while he's alive to miss her, she'll take care of my parents - if what you're saying is true I'm never going to see them again. My Sherlock."

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"I'm sorry," she says sympathetically.

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"How do you know what you know - that there's no communication, that I'm stuck? How is this known?"

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...She looks puzzled.

"It's in the rules?" she tries. "It's been that way forever?"
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"The rules. Who makes the rules?"

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"The administration."

Looking slightly worried now, she comes out from behind her desk.

"Could you come with me, please? I need to show you how to find your residence."
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Shell Bell follows her, but she doesn't stop asking questions. "Who's the administration? How do they set rules? Why is my magic gone? What is this folder for?"

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"I don't know anything about your magic," she says. "The administration built this place. The folder contains your residence code - you'll want to memorize that number - and sentencing information."

They enter an elevator. It has three buttons. The woman in the fuzzy pink sweater pushes the bottom one. The doors close. The elevator descends.
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"Sentencing? And who is the administration? Do you mean they built the building or the entire afterlife?"

She opens her folder.
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"The entire afterlife," she says. "Asking about the administration isn't going to get you much of anywhere."

The first page of the small sheaf of papers inside has only four lines on it:

BELL SWAN
98066714331^1
DIANA 1:12
9:00 CH


All the following pages are densely packed with an inscrutable code involving a lot of numbers and punctuation.
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