There are tidbits of sunshine and happiness dancing in front of her eyes. Small fragments bathed in ethereal light call her, ever so enticingly, and Darcy is hard-pressed not to reach out to them. Red coats her vision and for one short moment she is confused. Where has the happiness disappeared to? Still, warm, red treks its way down her face. Or she thinks it's her face. Now Darcy's acutely aware that she can't feel much of anything. But she can tell with unwavering certainty that the life giving serum, so very precious to her, is swiftly leaving her body. Strange that she should feel so very lethargic and not do anything about it. Perplexingly enough, she can't recall a reason to fight. Her mind is too muddled and maybe that hit to the head she took is aggravating things. Maybe she cracked her skull open and that's where the blood is leaking from. Her eyes sting, Darcy realizes briefly, and the taste of metal floods her mouth. There is something she is forgetting. But what is it? She simply can't recall. Darcy tells herself it's not important if she can't remember it. And still, whatever it is, it lurks in the shadows of her exhausted mind.
Most unexpectedly her mind wraps around what is happening to her. Darcy suddenly knows she's going. In a small fit of panic she tries to get up but the only things she manages to do is choke on her own blood, in all the agitation. How did it get to this? The memories elude her but she knows it's not something without value. Somehow she manages to cough blood but it's still making her gag. At least the panic is gone. Of course Darcy doesn't want to die yet. Who would? But what keeps her here? It's essential, whatever it is. Whatever he is. Whoever he is. It dawns upon her that her reason is not an it. It's a he. Or is it them? It definitely involves a he, and maybe it is a them. Her mind, in a moment of lucidity, whispers it's an us. Darcy wonders who us is.
Bereft of all her energy, Darcy is slow on the uptake. A smooth smile makes her heart tremble while a distinct, soft voice fills her eyes with tears. Jet black hair flits before her and cold feels warm against her. For some odd reason she pictures Norse myths, a strange name for a hammer, which she can barely pronounce, and a devilishly handsome being she should have kept well away from. Darcy has never been one for rules. She wanted what she wanted, and what she wanted she usually got. It's the small image of a boy that makes her want to cry out. He looks at her with bright eyes and she wants to take him in her arms. It's her motherly instinct, she realizes with a start. And he, the boy, is her son, all bright and cheery. Her arms ache, Darcy wants to fill them with something but she can barely move them. And then there is another, the dark prince who extends his hand to her. She can't reach back to him.
It's so unfair. Rebelling against it is too much of an effort for her though. She's not ready to go yet. She'll never be ready to go. Darcy wants to stay. She wants to hug her son and tell her prince of the ice lands how exceptionally stupid he is for not seeing his own worth. How can someone so smart be so stupid? And she won't get to see her son grow. That hurts. It hurts that she won't be able to be by his side, comfort him, love him. Would they get over it? Over her? Like she never even existed. The world would keep spinning. The sun would rise again. Only it won't be the same. She won't be here anymore. Darcy thinks that she remembers their names. The names of her loved ones, she can almost taste them on her tongue. It's bittersweet. And realty crushes her with all the power of a brick wall falling onto her. The sweetness fades away and leaves bitter, metallic ashes in its wake. There is not much she can do now, trapped in her flesh and bones; they drag her down.
.
.
.
Loki lifts Darcy with ease, refusing to acknowledge the blood sliding down his front. There is still life in there and while she's still breathing he won't give up.
I can't even begin to explain this. I blame my sudden craving for tragedy. And while I had half a mind to leave it ending all sad and whatnot, I'm not that into tragedy.