Her legs feel weak as she moves across the throne room, following Grime’s orders blindly, too frantic and panicked to put much thought into them. She feels too light.Īndrias’s voice is booming as Sasha flings Marcy’s limp body over her shoulder. Marcy’s skin is hot, warm and clammy against Sasha’s own. It’s speckling and splattered, dribbling down in sickening, gloppy drops. Grime’s voice is an echo, distant and distorted. She can feel herself moving before she has time to think, desperation cutting through all rationality because that is Marcy and oh god she’s dying. Time seems to slow, as Andrias pulls back the blade. Sasha feels the urge or scream, though her voice can’t seem to work. The flaming sword impaling her, straight through the center of her chest, says otherwise. There’s Marcy, standing before the portal, glowing and bright around her familiar figure. Sasha can’t really comprehend the sight before her, at first. The throne room floor is cold beneath her skin, and her vision swims with splotches of darkness as she pulls her head up, eyes locking onto the king right as everything turns into a nightmare. Like, really, really hurts, and with the way her stomach rolls with nausea she knows that she’ll be escaping this fight with more than a couple of bruises.
Betrayals stack up, one after the other, and the consequences of Sasha’s own actions rear their ugly head with such a ferocity that she can’t even fathom how anything could get any worse.
0 kommentar(er)
