Dalia was not known for rash decision making, but she filled this day with them from the second she began to cough up thick mouthfuls of blood. She was never quite so arrogant as to think she was beyond harm, but the iron taste in her mouth and the difficulty breathing that came with it created a severe sort of memento mori the likes of which the woman had never experienced until now. And so, desperate to survive or at least to die somewhere other than the floor of her office, the witch managed to sneak out of Lennox Hill without anyone noticing, and she hoped that it would be an uneventful walk home. She was wrong.
Blood on her lips and each breath more painful than the last, Dalia forced herself to keep walking the route she knew by memory, but as she walked, she realized she probably couldn’t make it and that there was a good chance she wouldn’t be able to get beyond the quarantine barrier.
Not that it mattered. After five blocks, she fought for every breath and her ears rang as the familiarity of the city began to slip away until it was an unrecognizable wash of murky color and the constant, repulsive coppery tang of blood in her mouth. A figure approached, small but its silhouette shifting as though made of smoke or... something. She squinted and felt magic rush to her fingertips, cold and almost itchy. “St-stay away,” she commanded, then coughed so hard her torso pitched forwards and she expelled another mouthful of blood onto the pavement. Perhaps the horrific silver lining to all of this was there was blood everywhere--despite being on the edge of death and her magic barely obeying her will, the abundance of blood made her a singularly powerful opponent if she wished it.
@helenagrimaldi @ouroxkenz
