REXANNA
i was born with a knife in one hand
She isn’t sure how she gets there, hobbling and walking under the strain of her broken bits. An arm doesn’t work still, at least not well, but it’s increased in usability compared to how she was before. Melita helps her get to the Artist’s Guild, and she realizes how eternally grateful she is for the fiery haired girl. She knew the others would have helped her too, but it was easier this way. Especially while the bits and pieces of her knit back together, a slow and frustrating process. And gods she’s covered in so much of her own blood fluid? And she’s so tired, feeling like a waning willow, like any breeze will take her off her feet.
She bids the girl farewell, able to take it on herself from the doorframe, and she enters it slowly (gods, so slow) before she closes the door and leans against the doorframe, her working hand idly spinning the engagement ring on her finger. “Bastien? Can you come here?” She calls out to him, tired and exhausted, wanting to sleep until all her pieces are back together. Her body is coated in her own strange blood, mixed with the inky black of the blighted pumpkin, giving her pale skin an almost water colored look.
She bids the girl farewell, able to take it on herself from the doorframe, and she enters it slowly (gods, so slow) before she closes the door and leans against the doorframe, her working hand idly spinning the engagement ring on her finger. “Bastien? Can you come here?” She calls out to him, tired and exhausted, wanting to sleep until all her pieces are back together. Her body is coated in her own strange blood, mixed with the inky black of the blighted pumpkin, giving her pale skin an almost water colored look.
and a wound in the other
