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as they thank the lord
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the blind can't see
He had gone up several levels into the huge building, strolling along the hallways and peering through the little tray holes of the well guarded doors. There were some doors that were busted open, some that were unlocked — those barless rooms with their doors pulled shut were the cleanest in the whole facility — and all over a thick carpet of gathering dust. It sickened him that the place was in such disrepair, for the coyotes could've used this formidable fortress, but then, he was no longer one of them. They were fools like the wolves, and he was as close to old blood as he could get; thoughtless about killing in an instant.
His feet halted him for a moment as a hand reached out to shove open another door, and in this room, a tingle of pleasure ran up his spine. It stunk of death and decay, and a human skeleton has happily slumped over the leaking toilet, the source of the stench. Andre breathed in deeply, feeling the compulsion to gag and cover his mouth quite highly, but ignoring it for the intoxication of the death that had occurred here.
And for a moment he simply stood there in his slightly too-big shorts and smiled his twisted, wicked grin into the small cell.
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Why this forbidding place attracted the cinnamon girl might have been a mystery, but you could even say it was simple. Death, the loneliness of grief among the grieving, and the confusion of change had her running wild as if the blood in her veins was over-charged with emotion and could not be restrained. Having slept hardly at all, she was charged with insomniac energy and had paced the beach for a while. Seeing her own two-footed tracks behind her had given her shivers - it wasn't just home that was different now, she was intrinsically altered and there was no going back.
The walls of humanity's strongest fortress had at first repelled her, but she had now gone to be alone in the loneliest looking place she could think of. Besides, she had hands now as once other two-legged beasts had, and perhaps their building could teach her something about this shape. Crossing the bridge had been eerie among the rust and solitude, but she was bold and the same determination allowed her to duck through a gap in the fence and then into the building itself.
The youngster's steady gait altered then, becoming uneven as she hurried and lingered in turn past the various sights of the debilitated facility. Maybe it would be more sensible to turn back, for the dusty and stark chambers and halls were too repulsive to consider staying there for any time. Unless - perhaps nearer the roof would be fresher. Heading upwards at a fast walk, she did her best to avoid looking into the decaying, sterile chambers. Why would anyone live here? was her foremost thought, and she was just considering turning around before she got lost when she started violently, heart immediately somersaulting and her jaded eyes flew wide open. It was the movement of something or someone, just passing out of sight down a hallway and possibly into a room. What kind of person would there be in a place like this? She had so little expected to find anything living here that her reaction was reflexive: she darted sideways into a room that might have been a kind of office or security centre - it had two rectangular head-sized window-holes in the door where glass had been. She yanked the door shut behind her but over-eager, she pulled it too hard, and it slammed into its rusty hinges with a grating clang. The sharp sound seemed as if it would carry for miles, and the girl winced. There was a worse realisation to come: though she was perhaps hidden, she had no idea how to work the doorhandle to re-open it. Nerves that were already highly strung jolted her further and she momentarily buried her face in her hands, her short wavy hair tumbling about her face, then collecting herself Legacy side-stepped so as not to be so easily visible from outside and then stood stock-still beside the door, one hand gripping the handle as if for support. [/html]
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as they thank the lord
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the blind can't see
Unlike a usual youth, Andre reveled in this newfound change. He remembered, back when he wasn't as likely to attack, he had asked his brother how he could change to be like him. Now, he'd figured it out, and while he wasn't entirely sure how to shift back, the change could take place. He had seen Gabriel in both forms, the quadrupedal following the bipedal, and therefore there was evidence of a way to go back. The question, in that instance, was why one would, but it would become fully apparent in the days to come when he realized how much harder it was to hunt.
His ears sprung backwards at the sound of feet scuffing against the dust-covered floor, and had it not been for the shadow he glimpsed passing by, Andrezej might have convinced himself that it was a trick of his mind. He did not think to grab one of the heavy human bones as he exited the room quickly — his teeth were plenty sharp enough — to see nothing at all. Frowning, the coyote stepped quietly across the threshold and down the hall, lined with rooms in a similar state to the one he'd just been in, but the dead giveaway didn't take long in coming; the metal snap of a door shutting, ringing through the whole facility.
He didn't know exactly which room it came from, but he found the general vicinity quite easily. Rather than peering through windows, the coyote tapped his nails on each of the doors, cackling madly as he went. Whoever it was was trapped between him, the railing, and the army of skeletons just hanging around. His grin was likely less malicious than theirs.
Come out, come out, wherever you are, he snarled to the empty walls, chuckling darkly as his voice echoed.
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In the few seconds of silence she had time to sweep her eyes over the room, this trap in which she found herself skulking like a prey animal. Something inside rebelled against this, but her sense was stronger than pride for now. There was a table, which she saw as a flat hollow object, and chairs, all liberally coated in dust and grime. The rest of the human paraphernalia lying around was unintelligible to her. Her breathing slowed to a deep tremble rather than the quick panting of fright, and then caught in her windpipe as the first footsteps were heard. She pressed herself to the wall. Would it be her protection? Or her prison?
Then, as the first of his scent filtered through the stiflingly still air and the sound of canine claws upon solid surface drummed into her ears, Legacy realised the horrifying truth: she knew who this was, and how could she be surprised? A twisted creature like that deserved a place like this. Unpleasant, unfeeling, built in the basest of violent instinct. She could not believe that he would have changed for the better since their last encounter - and if he'd grown as much and shifted as she had, then she really was in trouble. No one would find her here. Not in time.
Though her heart fluttered, the wolf retained her clarity of mind; the door opened inwards. He must not be allowed in. As his deranged voice resonated from every wall, only just recognisable, Legacy moved across the room in a few quick paces, seized a chair, hefted it awkwardly back and jammed the metal frame against the door. She'd just meant to build a flimsy block - but by chance the chair-back lodged beneath the handle and held firmly, braced at an angle against the floor. She stepped back a few paces, breathing quickly, nervously, and surveyed this. It looked secure, at least. Time would tell if once again her strength and resolve would be tested. She'd tasted mortality, now. Legacy would fight him, if she had to.
He must know where she was now. He would be at the right door at any moment. Keeping her keen eyes fixed upon the empty window panels, Legacy called out, trying not to let her voice waver. "Get out of here. Leave me alone." [/html]
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as they thank the lord
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the blind can't see
It was only a matter of time before he would find her; her scent filtered through the smell of decay and ancient stone, mingling with it, but he was reminded of her; he knew her. Though he didn't have any desires to, it caused his wicked expression to grow more; this time, there weren't any other god damned wolves to save her ass. Laughter bubbled from his lips, inexorable even in the throes of a certain excitement that came with having her trapped. The sound of the metal chair leg grating against the door pointed out where she was, but he'd figured as much by then.
So that's where you're hiding, huh, wolf? He pressed his body against the door, fingers clasping the small frame of one of the holes that had once held panes of glas. He could smell her in there, smell her fear, and it was through this opening that he saw what she'd done with the chair. A newly shifted Optime, of course, Andre wasn't particularly sure whether it was effective, but the basic mechanism was known; she was keeping him out with makeshift locks.
Just to see, he attempted to move the door handle, smirking as it halted when the other side hit the leg of the chair. Clever little bitch, he crooned sweetly, before grinning manically at her. Oopsie, looks like you're stuck there now. I'll sit here all night and wait for you to come on out, babe. No sexual desires, no bad intentions that would linger along the lines of anything involving rape (and anyway, he wasn't old enough) but the word seemed fitting, especially with the drops of poison licking all around it.
Any time, honey, he laughed cruelly as he turned, walked back a few steps, and sat down on the dusty floor. He whirled to face the door, only able now to see the wall higher up through the pane-less windows, and smirked boyishly at it. Retort, bitch, let's see what you got.
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The sound of his laughter was all that could be expected of a madman, almost nauseating Legacy as she tried to ignore it. She could not drag her eyes away from the hand that next appeared, though. Optime. She'd suspected as much. As his figure choked the window his scent filled the room: overpowering. She hated how afraid he made her, utterly terrified even more than was proportional to the situation, despite her best efforts. The girl jerked backwards as the force of attempted entry hit the door. She gritted her teeth: at least he wasn't inside. Silent as if mesmerised, she simply stared back at him. That insane, ash-furred face framed neatly by the window, smiling widely with evil intent. She was stiff, still - a deer frozen in his headlights. In this alien, hostile place the most she could do while looking at him was to twist her features into a sullen scowl, her head lowering defiantly with those green eyes still inextricably boring into his own of fittingly violent yellow. It was no equal reply to his silken phrases, but she couldn't manage a single word.
He removed himself, though not very far, and in the seconds where she was nearly back in solitude - how sweet the solitude had been, though she'd thought differently at the time - her fingers clenched, a gesture new to the girl but as natural as any other. Slowly the adrenaline, the grief and most of all the outrage were drifting back.
The silence between them was absolute and electric, then Legacy with a sob of frustration hurled herself at the door, crashing her fists brutally against it. It and the chair rattled but held: the frame was solid, as it had had reason to be. Shoving her face next to the window and turning a blazing expression down upon him, she hissed, words intense with anger. "You can't do that! You can't keep me here!" Some part of her knew it was pointless to even say this; it was stupid to show him how emotional she was - perhaps even giving him even more psychological advantage than he already had - but Legacy was still barely more than a child and the strain was profound. "Who do you think you are?" She was almost spitting out each word, but her rage was already calming and she was already regretting the outburst. [/html]
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as they thank the lord
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the blind can't see
He could only break into more hysterics as her face, furious now, appeared at the window he had occupied only moments before. The crash of her body against the door had been seemingly futile, and he simply shrugged at such an attempt of getting out; she had got herself in, surely she could get herself out? He sneered at her, challenging her expression with his own, tail flipping idly on the ground upon which it lay and stirring the dormant motes into swirling motion.
Well, well, naughty girl. Nothing he said was particularly reprimanding, but neither was it at all sympathetic; Andre had figured out the tricks of door handles by practicing in the Suburban Boneyard, but he didn't care what happened to her. She could become one of those skeletal remains for all he cared, and someday in the future, he would come back and crush her skull into dust. For now, he was content to simply sit, taunting her with his freedom as she remained locked into what could only be a security room (or a cell for those really insane bastards), apparently unable to leave.
That's no way for a lady to act, he cackled, spitting the words right back. Anyway, you're free to go. I'm not holding you in there or anything. I'm allowed to sit out here, aren't I?
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Legacy stood solidly, trying to muster up an unaffected expression. She hadn't been trying to get out: the attack on the door had merely been an expression of her fury, an involuntary outpouring of rage. It had been pointless, and so it had obviously seemed to him. His finishing words confirmed this. There was a flash of defensive scorn in her eyes. He knew she feared his attack, he must smell the terror upon her - he must understand that she would not open the door while he sat there, waiting. It wasn't so much that she couldn't get it back open, she wasn't sure of that yet, but that she didn't even dare to try. To succeed would mean facing him. Did he really think her that stupid? He had her effectively if not literally caged within. Although, to speak this aloud would give him yet more reason to smirk, so she did not even answer his sneer of a question, although if she had it would have been nothing more cutting than I know. The two children had no respect whatsoever for one another, and it was quite the odd situation.
Already her temper was cooler, though, and she did think that perhaps as the only sane being present, she stood a chance of waiting him out, of boring him into leaving - anything, anything to get that scent and that voice away from her. She was still carefully watching him, ready to duck away if he stood up. "You should be the one locked away, and every other ignorant brat like you." Could she possibly provoke a reaction? She doubted he cared what she said. He didn't seem to think of her as more than an amusing diversion. But then, why was he waiting? Maybe she could throw rubble out of the window at him: or maybe just speaking to him would be more a more effective incentive for him to go. He hadn't been much of a talker before, though now he seemed admittedly different. "You know, you can't wait there forever, unless you want us both to die..." For all she knew, he didn't care. [/html]
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as they thank the lord
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the blind can't see
Excuse me? The only polite words ever to fall from the Lykoi's lips were followed by a gleeful, if just as insane, giggle. Well, I guess I'll tell all of the, brats, that you sent them here. I'm sure they'll love it here, exiled by a bitch who's unable to even leave. While he had once been less inclined to speak and more inclined to attack, he had learned a lot since then, and this was a far more satisfying way of doing it; he still gave the overhanging threat of being attacked, but at the same time, he enjoyed himself in the process rather than simply being filled with rage. His peculiar smile did not fade as she continued to speak, nor did his posture sitting cross-legged on the floor with his arms crossed over his breast shift.
That's not true, he responded simply, examining on of the nails on his fingers — still remotely canine-like, but differently designed — as if he was uninterested in the topic to which he was about to supply the solution. It's simple, really. I could either die of thirst or starvation, and let's face it, I'll get hungry long before thirst claims me. He didn't like speaking of, them, as a unit, and therefore, avoided such grouping. His acidic eyes remained fixed on her as he boldly spoke out what his thoughts permitted.
All I need to do is come in there, one way or another, kill you, and I'll be alive and you'll be dead. I'll eat whatever I feel like of you, and then leave this place. One ear tilted inquisitively forward, awaiting a reaction to his gruesome plan.
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He spoke as if logically, and yet there was a faint lack of logic to his sentences that just unnerved her even more as she listened. Though the thought did frighten her - she had an imagination, after all - she was certain there was no way he could enter through the solid, jammed door, and so she was able to keep the fear at bay. Though she trembled as she spoke, there was a confident lift to her voice. "That's not going to happen, because you can't possibly get in." She hit the door again with a palm, as if to demonstrate its strength - although part of her was hoping he would manage to break through the door so she could somehow get past him as he advanced and run, which was a plan that would not work if he noticed her trying the handle and was ready. There was a chance she could just walk away untouched, but she suspected his insanity made it a slim one.
She would never relax in his presence, but her expression was more thoughtful than horrified now. Like a stalked prey animal, her senses were heightened, her train of thought swift and exacting. "So why don't you just give up? Surely I'm not worth your time." Softly spoken, not wheedling, but suggestive. "Or maybe you're enjoying having me around?" She had an idea this would rile him. [/html]
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as they thank the lord
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the blind can't see
Well, came his quick retort, so be it. If he couldn't get in, and she couldn't get in, then it would survival of the fittest. He was willing to sit there for all of eternity, just for the treat of the smell of her fear, though it was wavering, and his own taut patience. It would wear thin with her chatter eventually, but for now, he held it firmly on on hand, marveling still at the way it could grip.
He laughed aloud at her suggestions, the amused glint in his eyes intensifying slightly. You're not worth my time, bitch, he confirmed, but then, neither are those other fuckers anywhere else. His expression may have softened slightly at that, though likely it only heightened the strong lines of merciless drawn into him. As for enjoying your company, well, let's just say you're worse than that other guy in the other room. The dead one, that stank.
Even though wolves taste like dog shit, he went on, you're likely more appetizing than him.
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It was difficult not to rail at him for his selfishness, for his folly in believing he was better than everyone, for his enjoyment of cruelty. She just wanted out; up here was so disconnected from everything that made up her life, so achingly far away from home where Legacy felt she was needed. She had lost a relative, but the pack had lost a Beta, and her mother Fatin was grieving as if for a child.
Less good could be done by the dead. This couldn't last more than a day, and that was the limit she gave herself. The little window still showed light, albeit grey indistinguishable light that came from framing the highest part of the sky through a small, high up area. If this took too long, she would have to break out and risk those eager fangs that promised to devour if they could. Safer inside for the moment. Just waiting. She had no idea what it might do to her state of mind, but she had to hold firm as long as possible. Youth's resilience was on both their side, but he was a lunatic, perhaps his plans would change. Or not. She shuddered as he continued to speak, an expression of revulsion not quite hidden and looked away, turning to lean against the wall beside the doorframe, arms crossed protectively and ears honed for any movement. It almost sounded, among those other brutal sentences, like he had someone else locked in up here. He was probably just trying to scare her still further. She distracted herself by attaching to the most insignificant details of his speech. So was he saying yes or no? Or neither? Didn't matter.
All his words seemed to do nothing but foul up the air still further, but she clung to the idea that to talk at him would extinguish his patience faster than if they just waited in silence. From what she could see, he was used to being alone. "What makes you so special?" was all she replied, turning her head to look unwillingly back at him out of one eye. It was not her idea of small talk, she was genuinely curious as to how he justified himself. [/html]
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as they thank the lord
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the blind can't see
He didn't have to think about what made him special. There were way too many stories about the bloodthirsty Lykois, too many of Kaena's brood, to not know the answer to that. He showed his teeth in his lopsided grin now, shoulders shaking with silent mirth as he regarded her with the cold eye of the sadist inside. She probably already knew his curse, but that didn't mean he wouldn't take pleasure in speaking of it. His chest visibly swelled a bit to show his pride, and his eyes narrowed thinly upon her.
I'm the child of Laruku Tears and Kaena Lykoi. Point one. I inherited my mother's wild Lykoi nature, and my father's unpredictability. He sounded almost sane, but only for a moment. I'm a killer, through and through. Which means you ought to be terrified of me, and here he smiled sweetly.
In one quick motion, he had hopped to his feet and slammed against the door, growling laughter filling the small room in which Legacy was held, teeth snapping through the empty window.
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Standing there so small and slight amongst the litter and dust Legacy might have looked beaten, but she didn't feel it. All her attention was concentrated at her tormentor, trying to sense his motives, his levers. The fact that he was laughing at her didn't make her ridiculous, for there was nothing amusing she could see; it just made him look crazier than ever. He seemed to think that his madness was inherent, and so perhaps it was although she didn't want to believe there were more like him, the odds were that they did exist. The names he recited made her think of Empusa, that coyote friend of her brother's - her surname had been Lykoi, too. She'd had a degree of sanity, though, unlike this one. Unless there was something in there that just didn't surface often. She could see reason in his eyes, even during the most unreasonable moments. There was some intelligence, some sense of identity there. Was that even more frightening, or did it give her a certain amount of hope?
Again the door found itself suffering a beating, but Legacy was finding her feet in this wretched situation and even as she felt the jolt of fright on hearing his first movement had yanked herself away, swiftly evading those menacing jaws. Of course, she had been expecting that. Backing away still further, slowly now, she narrowed her eyes at him as if considering the boy carefully. "True. And I am. Wouldn't you be too?" It was hardly worth denying it. She could feel the terror creeping in her flesh. Would it ever be gone?
But even so she was confident in the secure room, and she raised her voice as passionate anger coursed in every vein. "You may be a killer. Or do you just talk about it? But even if every ancestor you've ever had had murdered every day of their lives, it wouldn't make you more special than anyone else. It makes you part of an entire family that would have been better off never born at all. Worse than the humans." She hardly knew the best way to speak, to show how disgusted she was by the glorification of loss of life, how futile and empty the claims of related prestige seemed to her. Like the vaguely remembered stories of the people who would kill one another on a mass scale for hollow, incomprehensible purposes. "And I hope your arrogance gets you killed, before you get a chance to continue the whole rotten line yourself!" she added hoarsely. Her eyes glinted in the halflight; tears were brimming, but exactly why she wasn't sure. [/html]
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His ears flickered up in mild interest at the anger that suddenly permeated her voice, shaking into the chords and making the words, though strong and oddly supported, more powerful. He didn't care how passionate she was about the subject, and where a normal boy might have leapt to defend his family about their bloodlust, he merely grinned his wild little smile and continued to watch her, brimming eyes and all. It was not altogether simple to deal with issues where tears were concerned, but his heartstrings only responded to the negative emotions; hatred, bloodthirst, contempt, and the oh-so lovely gong of jealousy.
No, he finally admitted, voice dripping scorn as heavily as a melting icicle let go of water. I'd be amused, possibly excited. Can you say in a straight voice that there's not some exhiliration in guys like me? Again, a hint of the fact that, if he had been two years or older, he would've raped her was thick, but not possible; he didn't even know what it was, yet. I am a killer. If I had the means of slitting your throat there, wolf, I'd have done it far before now.
That being said, consider yourself fucking lucky that I don't have a way of killing you, or cutting your stomach open and watching you bleed to death, pleading for release. He cackled again, mad as an insomniac deprived a year of sleep, but did not move from his position at the window of the door. His eyes just continued to bore into her, his waiting ears craving more of that angry, uncontrolled passion.
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This (coyote? wolf?) creature was in so much trouble, maybe even as much as she. There seemed no limit to his violent tendency. She wasn't to know that even his birthpack had rejected him, but she knew as sure as a death-knell of her own that he would doom himself if he carried on like this. Despite knowing that this perceived eventuality would be right, and leave the world a better place, Legacy was not a self-righteous dealer of justice, a meter of punishment. Here, unreachable, she still did not feel undeserved compassion for him. She did however feel the sense of loss. This imagination, this passion was geared towards all the wrong things. What could he have been like? What, perhaps, could he be like? Blindly, she would always cling to hope. Maybe it made her vulnerable, even more so than as a child she already was. Perhaps it would make her even more vulnerable than this, in later days.
The balance was obvious in its change now, even as he sneered his words he was gazing through at her as she had been, as if knowing how sick to her stomach his words made her. As if he fed off her own fury. The girl had little more than her youthful, simple logic, but it was undercurrented by feelings and instincts of an adult: and it made her uncertain, and more frustrated than ever. Oh, the growing pains of the mind.
Not yet tired of the bitter quarreling, she radiated scorn in equal measure to his contempt. Holding herself with fiery, spirited poise even as those wide shining eyes showed her fear. After all, a caged flame will soon go out. "No, there isn't." She contradicted him as he had her: what were they but inherently contradictions? "You're just twisted, crazy. There is nothing exhilarating about pain, or murder. Do you even know what it's like to have someone you love die?" Did he even know what love meant? The love for your family - friends - no, of course not. The question seemed foolish already, but she was impulsive as ever. [/html]
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No, he responded immediately, because there's no one I'll ever love. It wasn't something he was able to do, and while in the coming months there would be inexorable realizations and changes in him, nothing would ever make his cruel, sadistic ways any better. Nothing but brute respect, which had to be earned. There were only a few ways one could do that; to take him down, assuming he admitted to it, or by being the malicious presence he needed. As of that moment, Hybrid was the sole holder of the latter position, and nobody else he had ever met was tough enough to get his acknowledgment in having defeated him.
It feels good, he snarled right back, to hurt others. It smelled good, too. Blood was one of those highs he sought almost frequently, breathing it in like noxious fumes and living off of the smell of it. That was what drove him crazy, and as soon as there was blood in the midst of something, all reason was gone from him. He was like a shark when blood was spilled; unstoppable and insatiably hungry for more.
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He was a one-track record, a spinning disc of razor-sharp vinyl; flawed, doomed to repeat itself. She knew it, but the child could not let herself believe that there were some places there was just no coming back from. Legacy clung to this as mulishly as he spat it back at her. She wanted to tell him, you can't know that. But who was she to know? There was no one else to say it, but what could she claim to know about him? So little. It was beginning to matter to her, but she could not matter to him. No appeal to his nature was going to save her, and she had to still the tumult within, because she had to get out. Get home before she was missed, before she added to the pain her pack was already going through. Perhaps, given time, she would have been capable of earning his respect, capable of the intent to bring him down - but not yet.
So she dulled the edge of her rage with sympathy, and took a brave step towards him, looking into that demonic face and broke the pattern that so far, their retorts had been following; she was too worn out to harangue him further. She spoke softly, in a voice that was suddenly older than her age. "I see..." And further, more daring so that a icy tingle of fear ran down her spine, "You poor boy..."
It was sincere where it could under other circumstances have been mocking: she was compassionate, even though it was likely not at all what either of them wanted. She almost wished she didn't care, that there was no fellow-feeling in her heart, but she would never manage to be dispassionate. Though she couldn't feel it through the misery it was quite a privilege, really, to be able to speak to him (or anyone) so honestly, with the knowledge it couldn't possibly make anything worse - and to have him her captive audience here, even while she was the captive. [/html]
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It was only at this point, where sympathy came through, that he realized how much he'd been drawn into it; enough to drop the cruelty and give the small insight into his own lack of capability to love. That had never been meant to be said, and he'd fucked up and said it. His lips curled back even as she stepped forward, and his body was shoved against the door once more as a snarling whirl of teeth snapped through the empty window pane. He was not laughing anymore; Andrezej Lykoi could not say he was amused by this game, this mere girl who had managed to preoccupy his mind enough to get even that small amount of sincerity, no matter how twisted, out of him.
Don't ever forget that I'll kill you on sight, he snapped bitterly into the small room, drawing back from the window. For a moment he regarded it — would it be wise to leave? — but he wasn't sure she could even escape on her own. The coyote's ears tipped back over the lengthened mane that, one day, would be worn in a mohawk, grey fur appearing even darker in the grim light, and then growled once more at the cinnamon wolf hiding in the security room.
Have fun getting out of here, bitch. And then he turned and, with the quick pattering of his uncovered feet on the collected dust, he was off through the labyrinth, back the way he'd come. He was not letting her live so much as he was sick of her protection, and he would find her where she could not hide, and that would be the day he killed her.
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[html] The tentative, honest words were met by nothing less than what looked like a jolt of fury, of course, and it was so vicious that although he could not reach her she cowered back, almost colliding with the hard table-edge. Holding onto it with both hands, she wondered in a detached way why it seemed like the world was spinning. His parting words were not much more than a jumble of antagonism to her, and as he removed himself it took a few moments to realise, listening to the footfalls receding into the distance, that he was really gone. Wiping her eyes with now-dusty fingers, she waited for a moment, then crossed the room, tense and light. There was no sound, no smell outside. She should get out - now, before he thought to come back. If he was waiting around the corner, so be it.
It took just seconds to knock the chair-frame away from the handle, although it was wedged tightly by his repeated assaults upon the door. Then the minutes began to crawl by as she tugged on the door, forwards, backwards, trying both sides, and finally jiggling the doorhandle - when finally, gloriously the catch came free and the whole thing swung open. With only a small sense of freedom, for the corridor seemed as treacherous as her trap, she stepped outside, and without wasting a moment took to her heels and fled down the dusty halls, not to stop running until the perceived safety of home closed around her. [/html]
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