Lissa knows I cut. We both bleed scarlet and silver.

She's watched as I take a flashing silver blade and press it, ever so delicately, onto the thin matrix of skin and veins until drips of scarlet blood drip ever so slowly onto the concrete.

She wants to slice her arm, wants to feel the pain, but she can't. She's the last Dragomir, and she has to keep up the appearance of perfection, nothing wrong here, move along now. She takes pills instead, pills that drop her off into an unconscious like state and she can't dream or use spirit or anything. She can't cut herself, but oh how she wishes she could.

But I'm her guardian. I'm expected to have scars, and a few more on my arms don't scare anyone off.

So Lissa will sit there, her bottle of pills in one hand and a glass of water in the other, and I'll be across from her with an elegant iron knife in my engraved leather sheath, and we'll escape together.

Dimitri is dead; Christian doesn't care for Lissa anymore; Adrian has left forever. We're alone—not even her other bodyguard cares. She's off drinking to hide her pain.

This is when the carefully constructed façade of dhampir and Moroi crumbles in a thundering crash.

We bleed as much as possible on the outside.

And we bleed ever so much more on the inside.

Then night comes, and Lissa dresses in her beautiful clothes and I slide into my uniform, and we go out and face the night, Lissa and I.

We seem perfect, untouchable, when Strigoi attack.

I dispatch them easily, not a scratch on me or Lissa. We're totally unharmed, not a bruise, not a scratch, not even a wrinkle in our clothing.

This is why I cut.

Mortals bleed, right? People who can die have blood to lose, and when they lose it all, they die. Monsters—Strigoi—can't bleed. They don't bleed. They can't bruise.

And when I fight, I'm like a Strigoi myself. I don't bleed. I'm known as the best—but I don't want to be the best. I want to be the novice who stumbles and has a scratch slashing across her face.

Yet my blood is never spilled.

But I need proof I'm not a monster, proof I'm as human as any random person on the street, as human as Mason is. Was. Proof I'm dhampir, that I can die and feel pain like Dimitri did before I murdered him.

I need proof I can die.

So the silver knife flashes and the red blood drips and I'm happy.

I know I'm not a monster. A monstrous human, yes, but still human. Oh so human.

Lissa wants to bleed too, but she doesn't have as much to lose. So she sits and she takes a pill or twelve that makes her forget, makes her happy. She slides into my mind and feels the pain, and I slide into her mind and feel the numbness.

It's perfect for us. She'll feel her toes and her arms and her body numbing, and I'll feel the sharp pain in contrast, and the numbness feels that much more numb and the pain feels that much more painful, and it seems right.

Lissa knows I cut. We both bleed, scarlet and silver.

And we bleed far more than anyone ever sees.

.

Rose knows I drug myself. We both bleed, silver and scarlet.

I know she slices into herself with a graceful ease that I envy. I can't do what she does.

Her thoughts buzz like they were electrocuted, her aura turns a vivid red, and then she sighs happily, lifting the blade ever so slightly and pressing it down again, forming a pair of parallel lines that cross the borders of insanity and peace.

She lets the blood drip, and then cleans her shimmering blade, sliding it lovingly into her leather sheath with the rose engraved on the front. Then she'll press a gauze pad to her arm, and absorb the blood, and she'll wrap it with a sturdy cotton bandage. When she does this, I'll take a pill, and feel her slide into my mind as I slip into hers.

The haze covers my mind, and I'll close my shuddering eyelids to take it in.

I don't think I take the pills to escape.

I don't think Rose cuts herself to feel better.

I think we do it because we want to see who cares enough to find out about what we do and why Rose cries so much after battles and who cares enough to stop us from doing what "hurts" us.

I think part of Rose, strong, ethereal Rose, wants nothing more than someone who cares enough to stop her.

A person who isn't me. We share two minds, two bodies, two sets of thoughts, so if I stopped her, it wouldn't be the same.

If she stopped me, it wouldn't be the same.

So we sit and we slice and we drug. Then we go out into the world and live like there's nothing wrong.

But if you looked closer, you'd see the tears Rose always sheds after a fight that she wins.

You'd see my terrified look whenever Rose rolls up her sleeves, whenever someone has to get something out of my bags.

You'd see Rose and her purposely-careless mistakes.

You'd see I always have something silver on.

You'd see Rose always has something scarlet on.

You'd see the small tattoo on the small of my back. Cruor est Eternus in silver, with a rose and a bird.

You'd see the small tattoo on Rose's wrist. Sensim is Cado, in scarlet with two roses on either side of the words.

You'd see her scars.

You'd see my willingness to take a pill.

You'd see us cry.

You'd see us bleed.

You'd watch us die.

And maybe, just maybe, you'd care enough to save us.

Rose is right.

Rose knows I drug myself. We know we bleed silver and scarlet.

We bleed so much more on the inside than anyone sees.

.

I think the words on Lissa and Rose's respective tattoos are so true...Blood is Eternal, and Slowly it Falls...do you understand why I chose those?

Sorry for the depressingness, but I was working on a Max Ride fic where Max cuts, and it quickly morphed into the piece you see before you today.

I think this is AU; haven't read Blood Promise yet, so don't yell at me if the words I have spoken are non-canon!

So, there you have it.

Rose and Lissa, Scarlet and Silver.

Luna