Bekah retreated to the washroom after she received the quiet rebuke of the tavern’s new owner. She took stock of herself in the mirror, frowning at her battered armor and the blood stain from her now closed wound. Removing anything with blood she set it on the floor and stood over a basin of clean, hot water she’d had brought in.
The first thing she did was submerge her bloody hands beneath the surface. She watched as the blood took on the appearance of vapor in the water as it swirled and dissipated. She pulled her hands up and scrubbed them, harder than what was probably necessary as the sudden, desperate need to get the blood completely off overcame her.
She didn’t realize there were tears streaking down her cheeks until she tasted salt on her lips.
As she scrubbed her skin with a rag the images of the battle flashed before her eyes. She remembered the flickering flame of her sword, alight through the power of tainted blood, and the smell of iron as she and her party members attacked the members of the Red Hand.
She remembered with good intent striking a young man against his temple and guiding his unconscious body to the ground.
Bekah also remembered holding the blade to his hand, meaning to cut only a little when instead her blade pushed in deep and true.
Elya’s spear ended him faster than the slow bleed out.
The world went silent, the sounds of the tavern falling away as all Bekah could focus on was the pounding of blood in her ears. She sank to her knees, her now clean hands hanging out in front of her, as a torrent of anguish spilled out of her.
She cried like she hadn’t done in years. Months of pain, fear, and exhaustion left through her tears and sobs as she stared at blurry hands. Nothing had been right since It happened, and it was only getting worse. There was something inside of her begging to come out and Bekah was terrified.
Eventually the world came back to her as her sobbing turned into ragged gasps of breath and her body merely trembled instead of shaking violently. It took a few minutes for her to gather herself, to rise back to her feet, wash her face and tend to her bloodied clothes, but she managed.
She packed every ounce of despair back into its box, took a deep breath, and tried her best to pretend she was okay.