REXANNA
in the right heaven-yellow light,
Of course, as Rexanna stands and the guards prepare to lead her away, her eyes shutter and her hands shake — the pit of her stomach dropping out from beneath her. She barely hears Zariah’s words, barely feeling anything as she is led to her room to be locked away. A prisoner bride, once again. She chews on her lip the entire walk, quiet and calm in outside appearance only — inside she feels like screaming, like tearing the magic from her skin as if it’s the only reason Zariah finds her useful. Ah, but like always, she comes up with a plan.When she’s locked within the room, with no windows for ’protection’ of sorts, she doesn’t have the stomach to eat. She doesn’t feel like she can do anything other than bide her time, what little of it she has left. And so she waits, a constant quell of calm and rage that comes and goes until finally finally, Rexanna steps across the floor to the door, knocking on it and asking the guards kindly to use the bathroom — praying there’s a window there to get out of.
And well, since she’s been quiet, they agree. Slowly leading her down the winding stairs toward the bathroom, they perch outside while she enters. The door closes behind her and she tries to find anything she can to block the door; a discarded chair pressed up under the door handle, quiet as to not raise suspicion. Her gaze flits around the room, seeking and searching, and that’s when she spots it — a rather thin window, but she thinks she’s small enough. She takes her jacket off, to leave her in only the corset and basic clothes in order to fit, and she tests it as she climbs up onto the back of the toilet and checks for weaknesses.
There are no bars that cross this window, only glass weathered by the storms of Caido. And she smiles quietly to herself as she prepares. She hasn’t used her magic in such a heightened emotional state, but she hopes it doesn’t affect her accuracy any (she doesn’t know she’s learned to control it better than before, able to do more than before) and with a slightly shaky hand hoping it works, she holds it up to the window and summons a large firework. She watches through one open eye as the gold and red projectile shoots from her hand straight through the glass, shattering it and leaving little shards of glass extended out, and she hears the guards on the other side begin to try to open the door. She doesn’t have much time, and she uses her jacket to push away the rest of the glass to try and prevent her arms being cut into ribbons.
Inhaling deeply, she hopes she can make it out, and she lets it out as she pulls herself up into the window, and put, feet first landing on somewhat wet, soft ground with a quiet thud. She doesn’t spend the time to check and see her arm that’s begun bleeding, nor the cuts in her clothing from where the fabric snagged — she runs as though her life depends on it. To Bastien, to the Voice, to become a weapon and no longer a pawn.
((Grant and I have agreed that Rex escapes!))
anything could be holy enough
to save you
