[/html]"They were beating him," a weak, pitiful, whining sort of voice said. "Jerome was a terrible fighter. Jean was his brother and they were his friends, but that didn't matter. They didn't care." She drew up her knees and clutched at them with the hand of her good arm, the other falling uselessly at her side. The pain in her shoulder was still very dull compared to the mad bubbling heat in her head, chest, and throat, but it was a tangible hurt all the same, and she did not want to fight it. Cassandra could taste blood and bile on her tongue and spoke to take the bitterness away.
"T'were beating him and... and I thought they were going to kill him... I tried to stop them, but." She inhaled sharply, but breathing was harder now, with her knees against her chest and her throat, raw and dry somehow, clammed further when the air rushed against it. "...There were too many of them," she whispered, now dipping her nose down so her muzzle was curled against her own chest, her forehead pressed against her legs. "They pinned me down and Jean said...he said if I wasn't pure anymore then it didn't matter and that anyone could... could have me."
She laughed then, suddenly and loudly, pulling her lips back and bearing her teeth as she did so. It was an awful sound, strangled and ragged, like a dying animal screaming for mercy. She laughed into her knees, body curled tightly, nails digging into her arms hard enough to draw blood. "Others came, but they didn't help. They took turns. No one helped." And then the sobbing laughter died as quickly as it had come and she held her breath, burying her head into the folds of her thin, trembling body. "They let us go, eventually," she said, though her voice was muffled and laboured. "Jerome said it was my fault. It was my fault. And he... I let him... maybe I wanted him to... and then I killed him.
"Jerome was a terrible fighter."
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