Her eyes saw the room around her, but saw nothing. Dorothy was too busy inside her head to care about the same old scenery.

(He gave me a couple weeks of healing after that 6 month stretch…but then did it twice in one week, I think?)

She scanned her surroundings for a calendar she knew wouldn’t be there. She frowned, then closed her eyes. Her forehead creased.

(Twice in…nine days? Ten? Okay, fine…that’s fine. Totally…fine.)

Same boring walls. Same dumb house plants. Dorothy got to see little changes for the past three (or was it four?) days. One of the changes was time.

(I won’t count the hour he had it after that one night~…so a couple more weeks intact until three days ago?…No, four days. Four?)

Dorothy rolled her eyes and sighed. She wasn’t mad. A little agitated, sure. But she knew what she was getting into with Desmond when he found out about her immortality. He didn’t just stay with her; he used her ugly-but-efficient guillotine on her within the hour. He also took her head with him for the rest of that weekend. It’s something her body would have liked to know before he did it, but…

(…I loved it. Every second of thinking I wasn’t getting my head back again actually thrilled me. I just met him, surely I trusted the wrong guy, but…he came back.)

She stayed with him. She tried getting tattoos because of him; they showed her that her healing is limited to how the body heals as her tattoos continued to persevere. Nipple piercings and a barbell through her tongue? His ideas, her joys. Every modification that stayed meant there were changes to her body immortality couldn’t repair. There was a prayer she could end her curse by dying if she could find the right way to change herself.

But she had all the time in the world. Desmond didn’t. Though she wouldn’t say or believe she loved him, he made life interesting enough for her to want to stay in it for a few more decades.

(Nothing interesting about this particular bit of my life though. Maybe Desmond will walk in soon.)

As if they were waiting for her to think that thought, someone opened a door in her house. Dorothy heard a couple steps, then heard the door slam closed. Silence alternated with short bursts of about five steps each. Each group of steps sounded closer to Dorothy.

”Hey, Desmond? Is that you?”

No response. The next steps sounded much closer to her. Before she could speak, a headless woman Dorothy recognized walked into her view in the room. The lingerie she was wearing covered basically nothing.

The headless body was hers.

”Hey, me! I have a question for you.”

Dorothy didn’t answer her head’s rhetorical question. She blindly took four steps closer to her missing head and stopped again. She couldn’t decide what to do with her hands.

”Since it’s been literally a hundred hours since Desmond decapitated us, do you want to, I don’t know, pick me up and put me where I belong?”

She attempted to walk. Her first step made her stumble. She caught her balance with some ease, but blindly altered her direction. She walked towards her new forward, no longer straight to her waiting head. The moment her body left her peripheral vision, Dorothy heard her knock something over further down the counter from where her head sat.

”You almost had me that time,” Dorothy said. “Looks like my head is too fast for me.”

Dorothy resumed staring off at nothing, but her ears were honed in. She heard something plastic slide on the counter. Something else was moved, followed by a light metal thud. Silence. Then the squeak of an old hinge. Dorothy’s eyes grew wide.

“Oh…great, you found our…bucket.” Dorothy’s eyes were locked as far to the side as she could look, desperate for a glance of what she was doing. “You can just…ignore that! We don’t need to do any kick-the-bucket stuff today.”

Light metal rattled on the countertop. The handle hinge squeaked again. With her bucket in one hand, Dorothy rapidly patted down the countertop. She finally had a goal.

”Listen, me, babe, I know it, so you know it - Desmond and I made that kick-the-bucket list to make me feel better about living forever. We don’t have to do anything we wrote down in it.”

She unknowingly entered her head’s range of vision once more. Her tits were face level. In moments, her hand was stroking her hair. Dorothy held up the bucket.

“I…don’t really have a choice in the choice I’m making here, huh?”

Dorothy dropped the bucket with a racket only her severed head got startled by. She scooped up her head, then set out with it under her arm.

Dorothy’s expressions told how little she trusted her beheaded body. Two head drops, an ear-kick, and a finger-in-the-nose later, Dorothy knew she was right to be worried.

And as her body refused to recapitate herself to not change what little mind she had, Dorothy found herself as just a head being thrown into her microwave with a bruising thud. Her possibly-permanentl-headless self forgot all of her piercings were still on her ears and eyebrows, with more still in her nose and tongue and cheeks.

Dorothy, without a head, without any pomp or circumstance, pressed “ADD MINUTE” three times, hit start, turned to run, and slammed into the ground. She crawled forward blindly, knowing she had to get away from the microwave she just started.

Ten minutes later, the flames confined mostly inside the microwave went out.

Thirty minutes later, Dorothy successfully opened the microwave.

Three hours later, Desmond came home to find his darling immortal Dorothy’s charred skull sitting on their living room couch, with her irresponsible squirming to herself from her seat on the coffee table.