Traumatic/Dramatic Starters | Accepting @iobartach ( ššššššĀ ) ; our muses sit together after a traumatic experience. + ( šššš ) ; one muse holds the otherās hand while theyāre in pain or panicking.Ā
The scene she last remembered was being in that backstreet, fully of rage and bitterness and looking for prey before being interrupted, restrained, and then--a moment of lucidity--a swift bite to her own body to keep her from hurting him. Even lost in the thrall of her spider she still had the forethought to protect others rather than herself.
It showed in the way she had used her own poison to subdue and paralyze rather than inflict it as a killing blow on Miguel--Who in that haze of basic instinct was a competitor and a potential meal.
Now she lay in her bed, in the very same apartment she had hoisted the other spider to when he had been consumed by similar madness. Her body bruised and scraped from the various surfaces of buildings she had skittered over in her hunt, fingertips splotched with yellow and purple from the spindles that had extended from them. Hints of dried blood still present beneath her fingernails as shallow breaths rattled in her slow-rising chest. No doubt fractured or broken from the contortions and force she had put her body through. There had been a moment, a stirring in the blackness, where she thought she felt someone touch her. It had quickly faded back into the darkness where she wandered. She knew she wasn't dead, but with how much it hurt to breathe she wondered if she may as well have been.
Hinoka knew Miguel's presence, and the fact that it persisted confused her but it was to be expected. Why not finish her then and there? Was she not considered a threat now? Why bring her back in the first place and not to the Spider Society to be monitored?
Why...Why had he even come back in the first place?
Thoughts and instinct swirl around in the dark as she traipsed through nothingness. Only to slip back into familiar glimpses of that night and the hunt she had so desperately set herself on--only to flash and change back to various instances of her life.
Of course it was always the same loop of sensory overload and traumatic repetition. Her lab accident--the scent of flesh burning and the sensation of it falling from her body--Miguel laying her in the river as her lungs began to collapse. Hot tears running down her face from the pain and regret and the fear. A silent scream, perhaps a cry, regardless it was a rasped rattle that foretold her awakening, only to descend into pained, hoarse coughing as she recoiled from torn muscle and overstretched ligaments. A harsh grimace cuts into the expression on her face as she clutched at her midsection. Her throat felt raw, likely from the concentration of her venom, but the ghostly hue of her eyes was gone. Everything all at once snaps to her and she tries to get her bearings despite struggling to get out of her own bed.
