[m] Ez nem a székhely szerinti

Foxglove Monroe · 01-23-2012, 12:40 PM

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WARNING: This thread contains material exceeding the general board rating of PG-13. It contains references to fighting, death, and gore. Reader discretion is advised.

1,165 words

The sky above her was dark with clouds, a heavy rumbling filling the air ominously. There was a chill she had not expected, though it was winter. The cold penetrated to the bone, sending constant shivers down her spine as she pressed herself against the wooden wall, feeling her pulse in her throat. There was blood around her, the metallic scent sickening her, bile rising in her throat. She looked around her at the bodies, at the destruction, and she wished so desperately that she had a way to untie herself. The frayed rope bit into the delicate skin of her petite wrists. Dry sobs wracked her body as she slumped against the wooden wall now, all the fight taken out of her now. The guards had gone to find Maska and surely she would be punished, but that was not what was tormenting her now.

It was with a heavy heart that she forced herself to look upon the bodies of her would-be rescuers. Foxglove cried out in anguish, the sound echoing in the cabin. She was alone with the bodies, though she did not know what had happened to Anu and the other prisoners. Vaguely she was aware of the fact that they were supposed to be there, but they were not and it was not the first thing in her mind. There was only the cabin around her, the heavy smell of bloodshed and horror, and the bodies. There were so many. It had been an ambush, but not in the way it had been planned. The tribesmen had been lying in wait, expecting the attack from Crimson Dreams, but it had not been the Dreamers. It had been the kingdom, her family by blood, and they had died for her. All of them had died, more than just family.

She forced herself to look, knowing that it was her fault that they were all dead. Her gaze first landed on the body of her father, fallen before her in a pool of crimson liquid. He had tried to free her, so focused on the ropes binding her that he had been taken from behind in a rapid motion. Foxglove had hardly had time to process what had happened before it was over, the scream escaping her mouth as her father’s last breath was forced out by the guardian. Magnolia did not know, and she would never know if Foxglove was killed by Maska for the crime of being a hybrid, her blood her biggest downfall. More than anything she wished she could contact Magnolia, but she knew that was not possible. Szellem might have carried a message for her, but Foxglove had not seen him since before the kingdom wolves had infiltrated the cabin. Was her bird spirit friend gone forever?

Jade eyes rested next on the large body of the fallen King, her mother’s uncle that she had never known more than in passing. Despite this, Vigilante had come with the intention of rescuing her, leaving his own family behind so that he could save someone whose blood was so close to his own but that he hardly knew. Lolita had never cared much for him, but now Foxglove could not even remember why. The dog mutt had thrown away everything to rescue her, and for nothing. He had never expected to be killed on the spot, dead before he could even howl mournfully for the children and the mate he was leaving behind in this life. Foxglove inhaled shakily, forcing herself to continue surveying the bodies. There were just so many.

Locked in a lovers’ embrace even in death were two she did not know, a male who had also tried to free her with a heavy accent and the woman who had rode in faithfully with him. The blonde wolfdog did not know either of them, and yet they had died for her. The same, too, could be said of the burnt orange and white male, adorned in armor and smelling heavily of a family, as well. None of these canines had known her, but all three had died for the sin of her blood at the hands of the tribesmen and guardians. They had only managed to take out the first guard, the orange male running him through with his sword only moments before the rest of the tribe had come in and the bloodshed had commenced. No matter how hard she tried, she could see nothing but red all around her, suffocating her, blinding her.

She heard the door to the open creak open and pressed herself closer to the wall, but it was not Maska who came to her now, as she had expected. He would have to punish her, surely, for her father and great-uncle attempting to rescue her. It was not Dawali, whose betrayal hurt more than anything. It was not the guard who had kept watch over her. It was only when she felt the rough hands on her that she opened her eyes, flinching when she saw the fist headed for the delicate features of her face. Foxglove did not care about the physical; it was the pain she feared. She looked into the eyes of the guard who had first taken her prisoner here, the one who had brought her here forcibly and against her will immediately after the meeting that was held to announce the betrayal of Nayati, Liliana, and Sunki Utina to the tribe when they had taken their children away from the tribe. Foxglove wished Liliana had taken her, too.

“P-please… Don’t hurt me, don’t kill me, I didn’t m-mean… For this to happen,” the gypsy hybrid stammered, eyes locked on the gaze of her tormenter. She did not know what it was that she was apologizing for; was it her blood? But that was not her fault, her heritage was determined long before she had been born. Still, that did not stop the tribesmen from holding it against her, and so she expected once more to be punished. Her fear did not allow her to look away from the guard who had made her a prisoner, and for a moment, she felt as if the world had stilled. He said nothing to her, did not react to her desperate pleading.

It seemed, for a moment, that she would be saved. He still did not speak, but he did not strike her again, and she thought that perhaps she had gotten through to him. It was then that she saw the glint of metal, the sharp edge of the small blade he held in one hand. Before the knife could pierce the delicate flesh of her throat, the Tsula Agateno screamed, a sharp cry of devastation for all she had lost that night and for what she would lose. Her life flashed before her with the scream echoing all around her, the glint of the metal indistinguishable from the gleam of his teeth in his wicked smile.

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