âCall Meâ - Bran
Emmeline wasnât a warrior. She didnât go out into battle or hold the front lines. She stayed behind, ready to step in the moment something needed her. Emmeline was nearly useless in a fight. How sheâd even been connected to the Order, she didnât know, and the logical part of her brain assumed they must have a leak somewhere. Probably one of those purebloods still happily snuggled up with their traditional families. She wondered if theyâd attacked her themself or let someone else do the work--someone who had left a gaping hole in her side that she knew pressing her hands down over wouldnât magically heal it.
Emmeline couldnât sneer that much about purebloods, though, not when she managed to stumble out of the fireplace, blinking against the dark spots filling her vision, and gasped out, âBran. Find Bran.âÂ
She was distantly aware of being levitated into another room, although Emmeline didnât necessarily see any of it happen. She was sliding toward the dark, toward the warmth that was an absence of pain. The only thing pulling her back was a hand against her face, somehow rough and gentle as the same time as it forced her to angle straight ahead. Emmeline managed to focus enough to make out Branâs face in front of hers.
âYouâre not allowed to die,â Bran said, far too matter-of-fact and demanding for Emmelineâs current state but so perfectly her.
Emmeline managed to let out a tiny chuckle that turned into a gasp for air. âThen donât let me.â
