Once upon a time. . .
Cold.
There was a little girl.
Blood. Blood everywhere.
She was the best of her kind in all the land.
Tears. Streaming, sticking.
She trained very hard every day to become the best.
Pain. Nothing could numb this pain.
But one day when she least expected it, her best wasn't enough.
I couldn't breathe. Gasping, gasping, gasping like a fish.
And she lost.
'HELP ME! PLEASE SOMEBODY!'
She couldn't bare her loss and ran.
'I'm dying! PLEASE!'
She ran and ran until no one could find her. Let alone hear her.
"Please."
Which meant no one even noticed when she died. Crying out for help.
"Please."
No one cared.
"Please."
And soon no one remembered the little girl who used to be the best.
"Help."
Everyone lived their lives happily ever after without the little girl.
A single tear. Laying face first in the snow. Blood pouring from my body.
The End.
"HELP!" Jack-knifing from the ground I found myself dizzy and weak.
Darkness closed in from every corner of my vision. The darkness blinded me; with the amount of tree cover it was impossible for the moons rays to penetrate the forest. With shaking hands and bleary intentions I stumbled to my feet. A wave of nausea hit me from blood loss or vertigo I wasn't sure, all I knew boiled down to one thing and one thing only: I needed to find a road.
The birch trees twisted into what seemed to be figures. Distorted and unmoving but a threat to my frazzled mind. Someone was following me. Darting behind the tangled limbs of deformed birches. I could feel it. I didn't know what I would do if they caught me and frankly I was not planning on finding out. And so I ran with no sense of up or down pushing my sore limbs farther and farther only half conscious, tree limbs tearing at me and hair falling in my face in a tangled mass.
Road. I needed to find a road. Roads led to towns. Towns led to people. People meant safety. So I ran and ran becoming slower with each second, every ounce of blood I lost made every step that much harder. I felt like I was swimming through molasses trying simply to stay upright.
The ground. Looked so nice. I could barely see it through the dark and my tunneling vision but it looked sturdy and soft, covered in a soft white blanket. I closed my eyes and started to lean forward, stumbling preparing to fall. I landed splayed on the icy ground. Just a minute, that's all I needed, I just wanted to rest my eyes. Something warm trickled down my arm.
Blood.
It dribbled down melting tiny spots in my fluffy white blanket.
Blood.
I had to.
Find a road.
But why?
I shouldn't move, they always say not to move when you're injured.
But I knew I needed to find a road more than anything else. My life depended on it.
With a jerking motion and the help of a nearby branch I managed to get to my feet one last time. On I stumbled my feet were numb and I could barely see two feet in front of me and yet I kept on going, and going and going. Until finally, finally I found a break in the trees. I could see the waning moon through the distorted figures and I smiled. Determination burned deep in my belly and I used the last of my strength to push through the brambles and picker bushes until I was there, a small dirt road laid before me it stretched farther than I could see either way.
I had found my road.
Thank God.
Finally, finally I collapsed onto the gravel, I couldn't move. I wouldn't move. I lay in the very center of the road. I stared up into the pitch dark sky and couldn't help but sigh. I could finally, finally rest my eyes.
I wasn't sure anymore why finding a road had been so important, really I could have just focused on laying down the whole time. How silly of me.
After that everything came in blurs, bright lights, screeching tires, a crunch, a scream, pain, pain, pain, pain, blackness. I felt like I was floating without anything to anchor myself onto. Without anything to rely on. Everything was liquid in my mind's eye and I couldn't breathe. Then a steady noise. Consistent. It gave me something substantial, beep, beep, beeping right next to me. I could hold on to that if nothing else. I could rely on it being there every time it was supposed to be.
Beep. . . beep. . . beep.
"Head trauma"
Beep. . . beep. . . beep.
"Severe blood loss"
Beep. . . beep. . . beep.
"Completely shattered bone."
Beep. . . beep. . . beep.
"Unidentified."
Beep. . . beep. . . beep.
"No reports."
Beep. . . beep. . . beep.
"Coma."
Beep. . . beep. . . beep.
"Needs help."
Beep. . . beep. . . beep.
Silence
Beep. . . beep. . . beep.
"Please."
Beep. . . beep. . . beep. . .
(3rd Person POV)
"I told you I was done with that." His voice was gruff and his posture stiff, final. The doctor heaved a sigh, clutching his clipboard and twitching a bit. Samuel was not one for confrontation; in fact he avoided it at almost any cost, seeing his roots that was a task all in itself. But for something he was passionate about, sometimes he couldn't help but become a bit confrontational. These were very rare occasions and it appeared that this just happened to be one of those occasions.
"B-but sir, I mean Lord- No, no, sir-" The other man gritted his teeth as he listened to the rambling Docotor and he leaned heavily on the door frame nearest him. His knobby hands grasped the frame firmly; it was still a mystery how this snot nosed kid had talked him into even coming tonight. His time was precious.
"I can't deal with this right now Samuel. I retired. I'm done. I don't even know why I came! I have things to do." With a sour look on his face the older man began to make his way towards the door.
The harsh florescent lights cast an eerie glow on the hallways as the man made his way down the deserted corridor. Clumsy footsteps chased after him desperately; the noise of his clattering footfalls down the hallway could have woken the dead let alone the sick.
Gasping for air Samuel finally caught up to the man, wheezing and pushing up his glasses he tried his best to get his message across. "Please! –wheeze- Will you just –wheeze- see her?" A rare feeling of pity sank into the older man, and he paused weighing his options. After a moment he nodded curtly; a large smile lit Samuels face and he didn't pause in hustling them to the proper room.
As they entered Samuel made a small motion with his hand, signaling to be quiet.
"I thought you said she was in a coma." The older man stated brusquely, Samuel looked a tad embarrassed but shrugged.
"I- I know, it's just. . . Strange. Sometimes I feel like she can hear every word I say. Coma or not." The doctor admitted a bit bashfully. Samuel fidgeted with the lights making them dimmer as if not to disturb the young woman and then finally he pulled the curtains away from around the bed, and the air was caught in the older man's throat. "Do you see, wh-why I wanted you to do this Wesley? . . . Wesley?"
The older man did not react to his name, his mind too focused on the girl. His eyes stung with unshed tears and he covered his mouth with the same knobby hand that had previously been so steady and firm. "Darlene. . . Is it. . ." And yet even as he spoke he knew it couldn't be true. It seemed so true, it almost caused him to faint.
"No, her blood work came back and she is 100 percent Dhampir. Though the resemblance is shocking." The younger man adjusted his glasses and clicked his pen a few times, obviously nervous.
The young woman laid, still and pale on the bed. Her dark hair and dusty complexion were a stark contrast against the pristinely white pressed linens and gown she wore. She was tiny, seemingly swallowed by the mass of blankets and pillows that surrounded her. Her peaceful expression pulled Wesley closer still to the bed.
"How can? I mean. . . But-"
"I was dumbfounded as well! But it is certain this is not Darlene sir. She's a tad too young. And she's not Moroi." A small pensive smile graced the doctor's face as he stepped closer to the weathered Lord beside him. "So do you think. . . Possibly. . . You could. . . re-reconsider? . . . Sir?"
Silence settled over the room other than the steady beat of the heart monitor. Wesley touched a shaking hand to his collar bone where a small lump lay under his sweater. A deep aching breath shook his bones and finally, finally he slumped his shoulders in defeat.
"Three."
Brown eyes flicked down to stare at the woman standing inches below him.
"I am sorry, what was that Guardian Hathaway?" His tone was formal and yet clipped, nervous.
"Three bodies. Two Strigoi, one novice." The man began to sway, almost unnoticeably but his world rocked around him all the same. A novice. That meant it was a fifty/fifty chance that. . . That. . .
"It appears both Strigoi were decapitated using a dull sword from the mantel piece. Mason's body is relatively intact other than what appears to be a broken neck." Relief swept through him so quickly Dimitri wasn't sure whether he was standing in the foyer of the Strigoi safehouse or floating. His relief was short lived when he realized something.
"But if there are only three bodies and Ms. Rinahldi said that Rose was here with Mr. Ashford. . . Then where is she?" Nervousness frayed his mind yet again for the thousandth time that day since a certain young Moroi had called the hotel at some ungodly hour.
With his face put together and his spine as straight as a pencil no one would have guesses what a coil of nerves he was. First they had only allowed certain Guardians onto the scene leaving him outside, just feet away from seeing if she was alright. Then they had put covers on the bodies before he had, had a chance to see them, that left him so tense he had nearly snapped.
Janine stepped away from the Russian man and gestured for him to follow him as she updated him on all that had been discovered. "We are positive it was Rose that decapitated the Strigoi from Ms. Rinahldi's recount on the way here. But it seems that there's a trail of blood leading out to the woods out back. From there we had some psi-hounds tracking her scent, if it is her. Though. . . At this point . . . With the rate at which the blood appears to be lost. . . Unless she found some kind of aid. . . It seems as if. . . As if. . . Ehem. . . As if we will be searching for a body more so than a person."
Dimitri stopped dead.
A body.
So. . .
Without so much as a glace backwards or a single thought of duty he was running, lopping towards the forest. Whatever had happened had been his fault. And if life truly was as cruel as he had come to believe it was, Dimitri Belikov did not know how he was going to continue living.
Only one thought on his mind and on his tongue, Dimitri ran faster than he ever had before, reaching the birch trees and shoving them away. Even if it was with his last breath he would find Rosemarie Hathaway. Dead or alive.
"Roza."