#[ -.. sorry... ]

It is said that with age comes tolerance, and for someone who had lived two human lifetimes, pain had become an element that was barely worth acknowledging. Yet now as she held her hand over a wound that could not heal, the smooth end of a bolt jutting just above her bleeding skin, she struggled to keep on her feet. The pain was unimaginable as her lungs filled with her own blood. Even still it wasn’t the pain that was the worst of it; it was the fear of what would come after. Pain was something she had learned to accept, it was predictable and relatable, but the weaknesses that it caused were not. 

Gemina kept her hand pressed tightly over the bolt as she stumbled along, her jacket draped lazily on her slumped shoulders to ensure no one could see the blood that dripped from the bullet wounds in her back. The only thing that kept her feet moving was the smell of the men who had attacked her; a scent that chased behind her.

Panic was beginning to set in as shadow’s clouded the edges of her vision and a heavy tiredness started to weigh her body down. She tried to pick up her speed, but instead stumbled and caught her shoulder into the wall beside her. Was this how she was to die? Alone, injured, and chased down like an animal for sport. She cringed and forced her body upright again, her legs trembling beneath her while they rounded yet another unfamiliar corner. Only yards in front of her she saw a single sign of hope; a man walking towards what she could only assume was his vehicle.

“Wait!”