august 2 - paint myself in blue and red and black and grey
The staircases and vast grey depths of this underground room are strangely monochromatic before her eyes. Concussion, she thinks. Exacerbated by the level 4 akuma standing on her head. Her legs ache, her head aches, a cut on her scalp stings. Her arm hurts too, metal grille digging into flesh, and she's reaching, reaching, almost there - but she can't touch the small cube of dark dark red that sits there, on steel, so close.
She thinks, I am going to die. There's blood on her hand. She can see black and grey and grey (no white, nothing here is that clean) and grease and metal and against them Lavi's hair would be so very bright she thinks but she can't see her friends, she can't see her brother, can't look away from the one chance that she has, that she cannot reach. She can't reach it. She can hear them breathing behind her in rough concert and she just wishes they could go on breathing but -
Where is Allen, she thinks, is he alive. It is not a question, not in the sense of something that needs a reply nor as the subject matter at hand. She cannot spare the energy. There is dust in the air, she can smell blood and stone and metal and burned flesh. Kanda's?
She can taste blood in her mouth. She cannot reach the innocence, because she never had any, not since she was a child or even before that, because there's blood on her hands, there's blood on her hand where it reaches before her and strains without moving, there's blood and she thinks it's hers -
Then there's a noise that's too loud to be a noise, a screech of metal on metal, and the level 4 is gone. And she can move, she can move -