Sometimes Jude felt like there was still water in her lungs, salty and strong against the delicate lining of her insides, eating her away as if she was a rock and the water were waves during a stormy day.
There were still scars, sure, but those could bear with.
Jude would cough at these times, trying to expel the water that surely sloshed around her insides, but all that ever came out was red-tinted saliva. Cardan, sometimes, would look at her, worry clear in his dark eyes, but how was she supposed to explain that there was water in her lungs and she couldn't seem to cough it out? It was illogical: if that were true, she would have drowned a long time ago. Maybe she had, and this was an illusion her broken psyche had crafted for her.
Then she'd touch Cardan's warm skin, dry against the pad of her fingers, and remember where she was. Jude had avoided drowning once. Living with water in her lungs should be much the same.