until i'm ready, let me be
Magic, her mother used to say, Is smart.
It is strange that this is what Amalia thinks of as she lies upon the ground, blood pooling in her mouth, her arms both shattered, no sensation left in her lower limbs. There are faces above her, winking in and out like so many stars, and frantic voices, but the only one she sees and hears with any particular clarity is the one that isn't there...
'Magic is smart, Lia,' her mother said firmly as she placed her hands on the broken leg, letting a pulse of her power seep into the girl's skin. 'It knows the most important things to fix. And those things aren't the ones that will leave scars.' Amalia watched as the leg knit itself together, the image of bone retreating back into skin causing her stomach to churn.
Magic is smart. Amalia can feel her organs mending themselves beneath Jigano's power, the punctured lung knitting itself closed, the blood beginning to recede from her throat. She can feel the faschia buck and stretch in ways it should not as the rocks are lifted off of it, preventing fatal compartment syndrome from causing blood to pool within. She can feel the bones in her arms attempt to reassemble themselves into something limb-shaped, though that is a slower process, and one she knows inherently will take time.
She still can't feel her lower limbs, but maybe that's just as well.
Magic is smart, but it's not omnipotent. It knows what's most important to repair - the life-threatening bleed, the fatal blow, the shattered bones that will kill the muscle if their vasculature is not replaced. But even magic has its limits. It cannot fix everything, not at once. It cannot cause cells that are not meant to regenerate to spring into life at a moment's request.
Magic gives Amalia stability, but it does not mend her spine. So as the girl regains what little consciousness she is currently capable of, her eyelashes fluttering, her dark eyes trying to focus on the faces around her, the rattling sound of air fighting her lungs fading into normal breaths, her legs continue to lie still. Attempting to rise onto bent elbows - and immediately falling back, because it will be some time before those bones don't hurt - the Shield winces and cries out softly, light-headed in her pain. She can see the face of her mother above her, except it isn't her mother, it's someone else- someone who reminds her of Rishima so acutely it almost hurts more than the ache of her bones.
"Wessex?" Amalia croaks out hoarsely, raising a shaky arm toward the Wraith. "The others... Ronin... did they get out? Are they okay?"
It is strange that this is what Amalia thinks of as she lies upon the ground, blood pooling in her mouth, her arms both shattered, no sensation left in her lower limbs. There are faces above her, winking in and out like so many stars, and frantic voices, but the only one she sees and hears with any particular clarity is the one that isn't there...
'Magic is smart, Lia,' her mother said firmly as she placed her hands on the broken leg, letting a pulse of her power seep into the girl's skin. 'It knows the most important things to fix. And those things aren't the ones that will leave scars.' Amalia watched as the leg knit itself together, the image of bone retreating back into skin causing her stomach to churn.
Magic is smart. Amalia can feel her organs mending themselves beneath Jigano's power, the punctured lung knitting itself closed, the blood beginning to recede from her throat. She can feel the faschia buck and stretch in ways it should not as the rocks are lifted off of it, preventing fatal compartment syndrome from causing blood to pool within. She can feel the bones in her arms attempt to reassemble themselves into something limb-shaped, though that is a slower process, and one she knows inherently will take time.
She still can't feel her lower limbs, but maybe that's just as well.
Magic is smart, but it's not omnipotent. It knows what's most important to repair - the life-threatening bleed, the fatal blow, the shattered bones that will kill the muscle if their vasculature is not replaced. But even magic has its limits. It cannot fix everything, not at once. It cannot cause cells that are not meant to regenerate to spring into life at a moment's request.
Magic gives Amalia stability, but it does not mend her spine. So as the girl regains what little consciousness she is currently capable of, her eyelashes fluttering, her dark eyes trying to focus on the faces around her, the rattling sound of air fighting her lungs fading into normal breaths, her legs continue to lie still. Attempting to rise onto bent elbows - and immediately falling back, because it will be some time before those bones don't hurt - the Shield winces and cries out softly, light-headed in her pain. She can see the face of her mother above her, except it isn't her mother, it's someone else- someone who reminds her of Rishima so acutely it almost hurts more than the ache of her bones.
"Wessex?" Amalia croaks out hoarsely, raising a shaky arm toward the Wraith. "The others... Ronin... did they get out? Are they okay?"
i have to heal myself
AmaLiA
