the shot had been straight and true, it sunk into the flesh around his shoulder joint. jess would have finished the job if jacob hadn't come up from behind and done the same to her, one bullet to the arm. knocking bow from hand. the elder brother broke the shaft of the arrow off from john's shoulder. they would remove the rest later. john stood over the girl, eyes sharp and piercing. 'i'm taking her home with me.' he smiled low, 'you'll be begging for death soon, just as your family did.'
—————
Careless, careless, careless.
That is what she had been — years and years of anger building up inside her chest, pressure increasing to the point where it seemed to be suffocating, where there was no room for anything else but anger and frustration and the want to sink her (metaphorical) fangs into the family that took hers and tear it apart. Eye for an eye, bitch.
One might think that living with that cage around her aching heart for years would make her used to it, would make it possible for her to move on despite it, and push it out of the way of her judgement. But fire burns within her very soul, and she is blinded by WRATH, for it eats on her insides and spits out vile, turning blood into boiling acid, and if she opened her veins, would it not run black and rotten? Snake venom turns it into a lazy mess, clunky and dying, and that is probably how her blood would drip out, barely able to escape her body.
So, once she does see the opportunity to take? It has been too long. It had been way too long, too many weeks and months and years of training, of waiting, of having one of these smug bastards at the other end of an arrow, and lining up the perfect shot. Taking what is theirs, for they had taken from her. It's only fair. It's only fair.
The wind shifts the second she releases the arrow, and it's just enough to fuck it up. It still hits it's mark, burying inside his shoulder, but it was supposed to do the very same to his neck. Shit. Shit, fuck, shit, shit, fuck! She had it, she had it on a silver plate —
It's okay. Just breathe, and do it again, he can't get away faster than your arrow flies. It's fine. In. Out. In —
Pain, sharp and sudden, rips through her arm, and the bow falls out of her hand before she realizes she's been hit. Realization takes a second to settle in — she's been hit, she's been sneaked up upon, this never happened — and then it kicks in all at once, pain flashing bright before her eyes, momentarily blinding her. The bullet didn't went through but sits in her flesh still and it burns, and with odd clarity, she notices that her blood looks entirely normal — not dark, not thickened, as it steadily drips out of the wound.
She wants to turn around and run, but before she can, they are too close and she's trapped. If she had listened to the voice of reason that whispered inside her and that strangely sounded like her grandmother, she would have waited longer, would have slipped back into the woods, instead of risking everything. Only because anger, because wrath (envy) had blinded her and forced her hand.
" — fuck you."
The hit against her temple that makes her black out is probably the last mercy in a long time.
