My muse coming to yours after they’ve been critically injured. @unlimitedflame
a stark trail of blood was left on the otherwise unpolished door, following the line of her fist as she helplessly tapped against the door. hands felt heavy, like rocks, they fell to her side -- her forehead resting against the door frame was the only thing keeping her from collapsing over the corridor floor. the staggering figure had left a trail as she went, through, dying the salon with herself -- the hallway of their dormitories now unrecognisable in shade. she REASONED he would be the only one up at this hour, the infirmary otherwise empty -- she didn’t want to bleed out under no one’s supervision. a sad way to end things. so she CONTINUED to try and signify her presence with her ever tiring body, that seemed to slump further with every passing second, pool of blood growing even quicker.
a team trained to deal with world destroying threats taken down my some punk who felt far too confident in many ways. it was almost laughable, an embarrassment if anything. though; reasonably she put her health above her pride, after having made up for her own mistake ( exacerbating the level of initial damage, ) ‘ chief . . .’ barely above a hushed whisper was the only exclamation she could make as her knees fell from beneath her, collapsing to the floor like a marionette doll cut loose from strings. she still believed in him, perhaps stupidly over going to a hospital, the highest rate of survival was with help. yet -- that number was dwindling downwards as her pink jacket saw itself died a much darker shade of red -- liquid staining everything it touched with the stench of steel,
