A/N: Really short fic on Moira Queen. You know, I sort of like her sort of hate her. Not sure yet...but that last episode definately made her more interesting...
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Her hands are covered in red.
They are filthy, the damage so much past just being skin deep. Their blood is her blood. It's so ingrained in her that it's permanent. The color won't go away, even when she scrubs, and scrubs, and scrubs.
Her hands so stained with the sticky crimson, so dirtied that she cannot surface from the sea of red she bathes in. The hands that have killed so many: her colleagues, neighbors, friends, husband, and son. She's lost count. There's just so much of it.
And it's not just her hands; it's her arms, her legs, her head, her soul. It's all of her. It's who she is now. And she drowns in herself, in the blood, in the red in her ledger spilling from the edges after years and years of death. Countless names, faces, loved ones lost to her. Because of her.
And she could burst at the seams.
She puts on white, wears white, and appears clean as she can, but she can't erase the red. She feels like it's always on her, even when she's clean, but she's not. Her soul is black, her conscience grey, and her hands are red.
And she'll die that way.