even if your heart would listen

[Geneva Stockholm]

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P - Anu Geneva sighed morosely as rain came down softly. She shifted her position, her muscles screaming in weariness as she lowered herself to the ground, resting her head on her paws, but keeping her eyes forward and alert. It made no sense for her to come back here, the scene of the crime, but she couldn't shake the events of days before from her head. The rain had washed the scent of the battle from this place, and she was nose-deaf to begin with. But she could still recall the ghost of the scent of her own blood flooding her nostrils. She could taste its phantom gliding down her throat bitterly, reminding her of her failures. Every day, she felt more and more the fool. Her own inadequacies burned bright as neon in her mind. She felt as though she had failed, not only in protecting her new pack, but in showing any sense. She recalled words Jefferson had shared with her earlier, that she should be more careful. Her life had flashed before her eyes, and she had understood his warning. She didn't like to live in the shadow of fear, but here she was, cowering. It left her disgruntled, but she couldn't shake the feeling. Her brush with death had scared her, and she thanked her lucky stars that DaVinci had shown up when he had. She was certain that without his aid, she would have been hurt far more seriously. Geneva had been avoiding the Patriarch, not wanting to know what she might see in his electric green eye as he surveyed the damage Brennt had left behind, a story written in the language of violence across her skin. She didn't know what to think, returning here day-after-day, almost as if she expected the yellow-eyed giant to return. Almost as if she could rewrite the story that had been written in the script of blood, almost as if she could change anything at all. It was useless.

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