The Beyond Witch
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The Gods had jokes.
The confidence I had going into the turn was gone instantly with the unholy union of my front tire and the awaiting patch of black ice; the tread gave way with a surprising and unforgiving swiftness, and my bike went off the road. I skid sideways first, colliding with the asphalt in a violent display of spitting sparks and grinding metal, spinning off the shoulder and plowing into the dark. My helmet takes the brunt of every rock, shrub and root I crash through. The sudden solid impact of a tree sent me and the motorcycle in different directions, we separate like shrapnel with the resonating crack of a rib breaking, and I'm tumbling head over heels down a steep snowy bank.
The sharp tang of blood bursts between my teeth, any remaining breath is knocked from my lungs-I can't gather enough air to even scream-and it's finally over. I come to a rolling stop and lay motionless in a tangle of twigs, unresponsive limbs and wet leaves. I straddle the fence between consciousness and unconsciousness for minutes stretched to feel like hours, but I teeter too far to one side and the surrounding cloak of night pulls me under.
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"I fear we have made a mistake."
"...No, the only mistakes will be hers."
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AN: Yeah, I know. Review anyways?