@antiivans, * zevran & elethea. it would seem that i am doomed to always come too late.
Blood coats her from scalp to foot — some of it her own, most of it not. Blonde curls blackened by the thick layer of gore. The dripping blades clenched in her fists do not belong to her; she thinks she remembers taking them both from some of the guards she had torn apart. Then again, she already barely remembers that part at all — even in the moment, it had not felt like her own mind which guided her hand. It had been someone else, something else. That beast which lingered in the back of her mind & in the pit of her belly ever since the Joining. It had taken over. It was still with her now, rattling in her lungs — almost snarling. It flinches at the sound of Zevran's voice, pale eyes snapping to the assassin's face.
Her shoulders tense, arm twitching to raise; as if to strike, before she regains the sense to remember that he is friend, not foe. After a second of tense, suspicious silence, the blades clatter to the ground. "Too late to be a hero, you mean?" Her voice far away & terribly cold. A quick glance surveys the room they stand in; it seems her rampage had carried her to the main door of the fort, and she'd caught Zevran and their companions en route to her rescue. The knowledge that they had come for her was enough to crack a small smile across her lips. "Despite appearances, I am very much still alive, you know. Against all efforts."
