sulfur, smoke, soot / areto & love \ day 4
Jul 22, 2021 13:33:03 GMT -5
Post by calla on Jul 22, 2021 13:33:03 GMT -5
A R E T O
► ► ►
The leaves part and her hand twitches towards the sword strapped to her waist before she can fully realize it. It's a funny thing. Areto's focuses so much on trying not to trip over her own feet that her heart jumps up to her throat when she sees she's stumbled into someone else's space instead.
She's distracted. She's lightheaded. Seeing Love should make her mind sharpen and her body tense for a fight, but her fist just wraps around the cassette in her bag instead, and she squeezes it, pushing it further into the bottom of the canvas. She's unsteady from her talk with Julian. She's wavering from her encounter with Aspen.
Does that make someone like you heartless too?
She tries to feel angry, but she just feels tired. Avriel had bandaged her up but the wound in her stomach still weeps through the fabric a little. Her shirt had been ruined, and she'd hung it on the branch of a tree so the rain could get some of the blood out. Now, the way the red spreads out across the gauze looks a bit like a flower blooming. It reminds her of the camellias in the spring.
There's a bruise across her cheek, dirt under her nails, dried blood on her forehead that missed getting washed away in the rain. Camellias or not, she looks like shit and she feels like it too.
Love looks up and Areto almost winces. It's too late to run, even if she wanted to. Even if she could. She pulls the cassette out in one quick movement, holding it in front of her like a shield.
"Why did you do this?" She demands, but it comes out more desperate than anything.
Because of course she's blaming Love. Why wouldn't she? He's the one antagonizing her and he's the one setting this whole spiral into motion. He's the easy target to push everything onto, and Areto has no qualms against that. She doesn't feel guilty - there's nothing to feel guilty for.
Love's the one that threw her off this morning. He's the one that let Emerson die and it's his fault. It is.
I'm the one you've been hunting.
She forces her arm not to shake.
"What did you do to me?"
She's distracted. She's lightheaded. Seeing Love should make her mind sharpen and her body tense for a fight, but her fist just wraps around the cassette in her bag instead, and she squeezes it, pushing it further into the bottom of the canvas. She's unsteady from her talk with Julian. She's wavering from her encounter with Aspen.
Does that make someone like you heartless too?
She tries to feel angry, but she just feels tired. Avriel had bandaged her up but the wound in her stomach still weeps through the fabric a little. Her shirt had been ruined, and she'd hung it on the branch of a tree so the rain could get some of the blood out. Now, the way the red spreads out across the gauze looks a bit like a flower blooming. It reminds her of the camellias in the spring.
There's a bruise across her cheek, dirt under her nails, dried blood on her forehead that missed getting washed away in the rain. Camellias or not, she looks like shit and she feels like it too.
Love looks up and Areto almost winces. It's too late to run, even if she wanted to. Even if she could. She pulls the cassette out in one quick movement, holding it in front of her like a shield.
"Why did you do this?" She demands, but it comes out more desperate than anything.
Because of course she's blaming Love. Why wouldn't she? He's the one antagonizing her and he's the one setting this whole spiral into motion. He's the easy target to push everything onto, and Areto has no qualms against that. She doesn't feel guilty - there's nothing to feel guilty for.
Love's the one that threw her off this morning. He's the one that let Emerson die and it's his fault. It is.
I'm the one you've been hunting.
She forces her arm not to shake.
"What did you do to me?"
