The sickening sensation of falling enveloped him as he fell to the earth far below him, the speed at whence he fell enough to crush his frail body. Seconds passed, and he shut his eyes. His mind raced, rapidly trying to comprehend what to do. But for all it's speed, his falling was faster, and all he saw was black when before everything stopped...
*
Angelus sat on the rain soaked balcony, her eyes in pain, and her cheeks stained with tears. Her heart wept even more, and hurt thrice as much. She kept asking herself why, but the answer she had given herself was the wrong piece in the giant puzzle. Something wasn't right, the picture was too vague, too many frail pieces to put together, too many that could fit in each others place.
She wanted to believe that the months of living with and teaching him would make him doubt his grim duty.
But she knew it wasn't to be.
She gathered her long deep crimson nightgown and made her way to the living chamber. She would catch her death if she stayed out for much longer. Plus, she didn't think she could stand sleeping co close to where Caim had delt the grim work.
*
Pain.
It wasn't a foreign feeling.
He was actually quite used to it, for being exposed to only it and a small amount of comfort.
But this pain was much more than any before. He felt the cold around him, the wind currents and water chilling his exposed form. She wanted to shiver, but he was in too much pain. He felt like his entire body was a mass of mangled flesh and bone. His breath was pained and sharp, a coppery metallic substance gathering in his mouth. He whimpered, knowing his time was running out.
He hope Death wasn't as hurtful as pain.
*
his body hurt, his clothes drenched in his own blood. He tried to open his eyes, but only his right complied. His left seemed to be dried shut, or perhaps in too much pain for him to open. He didn't know. He used his right eye to look around the barely lit room, trying to remember what had happened. He tried to move his arms, get a spasm of pain throughout his torso.
Then he remembered.
He rolled over, ignoring the painful complain from his gorged body. He pushed himself up, hair and face dripping slowly of blood. He guessed vaguely that his face was bloody because of his now useless left eye, and that the pool of his own blood was caused from his arm and torso wounds inflicted by himself.
He knew that this pain was nothing compared to the pain his son would have felt at...
he covered his mouth with a bloody hand, his empty stomach protesting it's almost rejection o it's own acid.
Caim slowly tried to stand, finding that he could. He body was chilled from the hole in the window, and he knew that he couldn't keep his rejected stomach acid at bay for long. He stumbled, rather drunken looking, to the nearest bathroom. He felt himself falling almost on arrival, and he grabbed the marble white sink for support. He gasped for breath, knowing was going to be sick. He held some regard for his bloodied state and some care for his white possession in that bathing room, and tried to stand again. He took the last few steps then feel and emptied at last the rejected stomach acid into the toilet.
Of all his parts, his stomach at last seemed happy enough now.
He slumped to the floor, care for the almost too white objects vanishing. He gently reached out his quickly fogging mind to his love, giving her an almost begging plea to come to him.
He didn't know how much blood he had left in the other room, or how much he even had left. All he knew is that he needed to stop bleeding.
*
Angelus stopped dead when she felt Caim's weak plea in her mind. His mind touches were never that weak. Something was wrong.
She half mindfully made her way to where she tacked Caim to be. She gasped when she found a trail of blood helping to lead her to him. That amount of blood shouldn't be left as a trail, meaning that Caim was injured enough to walk slower than normal. And that was bad, compared to his steely swift graceful strides.
She ran into the bloodied bathing room, where her love and pact partner lay in a daze. Her already hurting eyes began to tear up, seeing the damage done.
Caim's entire left eye shredded, the eye-y puss mixing with the blood smeared on his face. His hair was in a mess, small matted layers and whole chunks knotted to the roots. His black royal tunic was shredded and riped, revealing the many scratches and, in some cases, chasms, on his body. His chest manly had on;y minor scratches, but his arms, more specifically the left, was in horrid condition.
She saw him open his right eye slightly, and felt his sluggish mind touch hers.
"Caim," she said aloud, trying to hold her tears in and keep her voice steady, "tell me, if he injured you so badly-"
"It wasn't him that did this..."
she stared at his bloodied face long and hard, her already broken and tormented mind slow to grasp his thoughts. "What?"
"He didn't hurt me." Caim repeated.
"Then...." she paused, "Who did?"
"I did."