[ WP ] Rewrite any story with a convenient and perfectly placed rescue as if it continued without said convenient and perfectly placed rescue . I.E. , The Millenium Falcon left Skywalker dangling from Bespin .

# # Coffin Nightmares 
 
 I've lost track of how long I've been stuck in this box, waiting for someone to come and get me. This coffin is cold, dark, and cramped -- only a few feet long and wide. It's stuffy and suffocating; I ca n't stand being awake. I spend most of my time asleep. I've had a long time to think -- long enough that there's nothing left to think *about* -- nothing to keep me awake anymore. 
 
 In some of my dreams, I'm home again, gardening with my mother: tending to vines and trees that grow higher than the tallest towers of our castle; watching as leaves fall from the sky, riding gentle breezes all the way to the ground; feeling the cool air brush across my face and through my hair as I gaze at the moon. My mother and I pick flowers and cut leaves, collecting alchemical ingredients and pruning the garden in the process. Where needed, we trim branches that are growing too far out and blocking out the light. These dreams tend to last for days on end, until my mother vanishes, and the trees and the castle walls fall away, leaving me standing in a void, staring at the moon. 
 
 My gaze stays locked on the moon as new walls rise around me; I see windowpanes slide up in front of me, framing the moon. I'm inside the castle now, and without turning to look, I know my mother is standing at a table seven paces behind me, attending to the raw materials for my next lesson. `` Magic keeps us safe,'' she says. `` Magic and secrecy.'' I nod, turning to face her. There's a man lying on the table, bound and gagged, squirming and trying to beg. She stabs him in the chest, and I see blood soak into his clothes and run into small holes in the table, draining into a basin on the floor. As his movements slow, my mother turns her attention to me, and I raise my hand, trying to picture the corpse breaking its bonds and climbing to its feet. 
 
 The corpse begins to squirm again, and glowing blue runes begin to erupt all over its skin, rippling across its body. With the inhuman strength of the living dead, it rips through its restraints and clambers off the table, landing clumsily on its feet, moaning. It looks at me with clouded eyes that seem to stare through me -- through the wall behind me -- through the whole world, and through the next, too -- and I know that it's waiting for a command. It belongs to me now. It's my servant, my tool, my weapon, and I stare into its empty eyes for what feels like hours. 
 
 My gaze stays locked in that direction as the dream falls away, and as the corpse sinks out of view, I see my mother behind it. Our gaze meets for a few moments, and there's a look on her face. The expression is subtle, barely different from her usual, cold look, but something about it makes me uncomfortable. I turn away for a second, and when I turn back, she's gone. 
 
 A quick flash of blinding light sears my eyes, and as my vision adjusts, I see my mother and father standing in a brightly-lit room in the castle, arguing, fighting. The dream is equal parts real and imagined: it happened, but I only heard it as I sat in my room, studying books on alchemy and botany. He's in her face, his imposing stature on display. She shrinks away from him, arms tensed and ready to block a blow -- prepared for the worst. There's another flash of light, and now I see them passing each other in a castle hall, mute, exchanging only glares. Flash. I'm in the garden with my mother, and she's silent; I know my father's inside the castle, working on some grandiose plan. Flash. They're sitting at the dinner table, staring directly at their food to avoid looking at each other or at me. They're both trying to hide their resentment. They're both failing. 
 
 The light dims, and the room falls away. The last things to go are my mother and father. Both of them stare at me as they fall out of view. Their eyes are clouded and empty. 
 
 I see walls rise around me. I've gone back in time to the ceremony. I do n't like thinking about the ceremony. The nightmare is quick -- flashes, scenes -- cursed moments burned into my brain, frozen in time, and experienced for too long. I endure them, and eventually, they fall away. As with last time, the last things to fall away are my parents. There's a small smile on my father's face, and it chills me to the bone. It's nothing compared to the look on my mother's face. 
 
 I'm standing in an endless black void, alone, and I ca n't stop shaking, and this is what I have lived and relived for the past thousand thousand years.
