Wind
The blue car was sparkling in the sun.
Before there was shadow, there was only light.
The blood was running down her face, neck, arms, covering the paleness, brightness, of her innocence.
Her kisses grew cold, her movement stilled, as a mild breeze carried her away, playing with her soft, blond locks.
The wind blew stronger, harder, wilder, as it blew away the colors, sounds, warmth. They no longer belonged to the world. The wind ripped the light into pieces and the only thing left was the taste of tears and blood on Santana's lips.
She couldn't hear them. One by one, knocking, shouting, whispering, crying.
Four days. Four days and her door was shattered. Someone found her in the shower. Naked, back pressed against the wall, arms wrapped around her legs, eyes closed.
Like a child.
Her blue skin was glistening. Water and broken glass. Bruised hands and drops of blood the water couldn't touch.
Santana opened her eyes and asked, told, begged them to leave.
Slowly, Santana learned how to see in the dark.