@findmyblood
She hadn’t meant for it to happen. No. Wren had been telling a fortune, a fake one for $20, and saw the things the man on the date with the woman had been planning. The things he would do to her when he got her back to her place. The things he wanted to do to Wren for seeing him, though he carefully kept his face hidden from her, in the shadows surrounding her quiet little, dimly lit table. She’d only wanted to stop him. She’d been planning to call the police, but when she followed them, saw the glint of the scalpel even as he was walking her inside, something had snapped.
It was a blur after that, but she came to the one person she knew would help her. Bloodied hands. Magic depleted. Her ‘fortune teller’ get up of a scarf, long skirt, peasant blouse, every bit of it was covered in blood, none hers. And the woman who had been about to be murdered? Telling the police a story about why the man, who had made the first cut before Wren could stop him, had turned his scalpel on himself. She would not remember the red haired witch that had been behind him, just inside her home, making the man a puppet for her. His hands did as her hands said, and he turned, looking into her eyes, as the final cut came, spraying her with arterial blood as he slit his own throat, falling soon after.
“Shaun...” Weak, she leaned in the door. “Shaun, can I borrow your shower?” she got out before swaying, falling into his arms.










