~Marcy's turn~ This one is pretty short but I'm happy with it.
Warning: semi-explicit gore and nasty but healed injuries including missing eyes and appendages. Also Marcy being out of control of her body.
There is blood on Marcy's hands.
Thick and too-hot and sweet.
Lava and pine sap.
Anne's blood and Sasha's too and it pools in her palms and she wants to scream and cry but she feels lit up with a sick joy and her hands are not her own as they twist and snap and rip and agonized howls echo in her ears.
Her own blood seeps down her arms too, dark and infected with the monster inside her, cool and slick like dew.
They're not begging, they never tried, because they know it's not her, she's just watching, an audience in front of a screen.
She wants to shatter the glass but she is weak and her limbs are heavy, trapped in a black ooze.
Blood pours because it is too thick to spray, cool enough to be unnatural.
One of the screaming voices goes silent, and the other gets louder, a maelstrom of sound and there is so much blood-
Marcy is crying, tears streaming down her cheeks and throat sore from screaming.
She flails blindly, reaching out, begging, hoping they're there, they're ok, they're alive they must be-
Two sets of hands land on her, both mismatched, smooth metal to textured skin, one on her right shoulder and one on her left arm, and it's dark and she needs to see them please let me see them I have to know-
"Mar-Mar, hey, it's us, we're ok. We're here." Please-
She makes a broken noise, a cracked whine, and two hands land on her neck. They're both calloused from wielding swords but one is hotter, a brand on her flesh, and the other is rough like bark, catching on the places where metal fuses to skin.
"We're alright Marcy, I promise. We're alive, you're alive. Everything is fine."
Blue eyes gleam in the moonlight, bright like fire. Dark hollows lit with pink sparks where the other pair should be.
Gentle, dark arms pull her into a hug, and she presses back desperately. She needs to feel them both under her hands, healed and alive.
None of them are whole anymore but they are here. They have to be.
She can still feel the blood between her fingers, dripping down her wrists.
A warm hand cards through her hair, bark-rough hands at her back, tracing over her metal spine.
And the same voice whispering gentle reassurances is crying out in rage and grief and pain. The arms holding her are twisted and broken, voice gone silent forever.