After a reasonable time after the attack, Kayle had gotten away far enough to assess the wounds she have obtained. They were not fatal in any way, or if they were, she has not seen how life-threatening they were, and her mouth and body was covered with the metallic-tasting fluid anyway, making her care naught about the pain.
This time, it was far worse than before. The attacks were far more professional, and obviously planned — confirming her suspicions that it was an inside job. How could such a large group of people, dressed in their uniforms enough to garner a thousand stares, pass through the gates unnoticed? She could have sworn she ordered for the bridges to raise, allowing no angel with the inability of flight to come through.
It was totally an inside job.
Not to mention that with this attack, not only were her guards caught unguarded, but also herself. The dagger that had cut her through vital parts were clutched by her fingers, right on the blade, the pain her only window to reality. She has somehow caught it when a masked rebel had thrown it to her direction, and cut straight through… somewhere.
A few moments passed before she was able to release her grip on the dagger's blade, seeing its pain was enough to keep her awake. She was too focused on running away and making sure her men were safe for her to tend to healing them, and it was all Kayle can do not to care about the scars that would form as soon as they heal.
Right after locking the doors and windows of her office as soon as she hid there, and making sure no one sees her undress, Kayle peels off her coat, drenched in blood, and her undershirt which was too red for her to actually discern which were the unstained parts or not, and piles her dirty clothes right on her table, not caring how important the documents they will stain.
After poking around and wiping off the blood that was starting to smell, she finds one wound that she needed to focus on: a straight cut, right above her collarbone. She felt it was deep enough to kill her — making her wonder why is she not a cold corpse at that moment.
Finding her knees suddenly buckling in fatigue, the pain not enough to keep her awake and kicking, all she manages to do was close the wound before she faints right on her table, scattering the clothes she piled on them and sending all her bloodstained documents flying everywhere.
A/N: As soon as I run out of drabbles, I might add some prompts I got before, too. They're strange prompts but heck, I like what weird things I come up with.