@niosglayne
she scraped her fingers through thick, tangled hair, pulling a face at the disgust that welled deep in her core. her dress was a ruin --- ripped, blood-stained; the lace and boning in utter shambles --- hanging limply off her shoulders to reveal an equally desolated chemise. A MESS, that’s what she was, especially with red smeared across her lips and cheeks, scratches down her arms that stung as they began to heal.
she hadn’t realized war would be so . . . messy.
but she stood before astor’s door despite the image she presented. margaret didn’t trust many in the coven, but she’d heard his name over and over again on the lips of her parents. the cleaner, they called him. margaret supposed if anyone could stitch her back together, fix this mess she’d stumbled into, it would be him.
her knuckles rapped against the tall wooden doors, and she stood back in the hall, glancing towards the open window to spot the moon heavy in the sky. she should’ve known tonight wouldn’t be ( if only to distract herself from the hot, hot blood coursing through her veins like molten gold, blood she licked from her lips even now. war was messy but it made her hungry. ) when the door opened, she turned her eyes up to his.
“ . . . may i come in?”