It is a fate you we can never escape. @princess--ofthedamned
Death lingers around them, around her, sometimes even swirls around her fingers, red liquid laced in red tips.
‘Red for Christmas?’ Her nail stylist once asked her, a question that earned the questioner with a plain chuckle, followed by a soft curve of her lips, which, by the way, was painted the same color as her nails. ‘No.’ was her plain reply.
Red is the color of sweet, sweet death.
And red is screaming in neon bumper lights, in hands tightly grasping on steering wheel, and in the vessels of her eyes.
Red is screaming at the sight of liquid swirling around one’s body - a body all too familiar for her – a body she had known since its birth.
Samantha.
Emily was enough, she thought. It is the fact that Lorraine could not be there when her mother took her last breath that breaks her and allows guilt to resurface. Was her absence during her last moment an easier pill to swallow? She thought no, but in just a sight of her sister’s body lying on the street, almost lifeless, everything turned and she could not even fathom letting the idea of death touching her life once more.
Was it her unusual agility or the adrenaline, Lorraine does not know, but it took just a few seconds from the moment her tires screech to a full stop up to holding her sister’s face, red tainting red, blood all over.
“What the hell happened?” came her voice, barely a whisper, but she knows he could hear from a distance –camouflaging with the humans. And she knows he had something to do about this.
Romanovs know how fuck things up. It runs in their blood First, Casper. And now. Damon.
Lorraine didn’t have to wait for an answer – his presence alone was enough proof and she hated how he could smile amidst all of these.
She could break his neck in front of the crowd. She doesn’t care. Nothing matters anymore.
“Eom….ma…” The younger mumbled in between painful breaths, steering Lorraine’s attention back to her sister. She could hear her weakening pulses and soft whispers. Eomma… eomma..
“Don’t you dare follow her, Samantha. Get a grip of yourself!” was all that she could say as she carried her on her back, her limp body heavy on her back, head hung on her right shoulder. The ambulance siren can be heard from afar, but they’re too far, too late to save her sister.
Only she can.
Weaving through the crowd of curious people, she went her way to her car, laying her sister at the back before she dashed to her seat. Her foot smashed the pedal and there was not a single second wasted. Engine ignited, her eyes set on the road, her hands trembled in fear. And as if the sight of Damon wasn’t enough bad luck, each intersection was on a stop. Red is everywhere. Death is everywhere. But it didn’t matter She didn’t care. She passed by each red stoplight, cars at the intersection honking at her but truth be told, there was nothing else she heard at that time.
Nothing else but her prayers pleas.
‘Don’t do this to me, Sam. Wake up!”
There was a warm droplet flowing on her face. Tears?
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