[Even if she wanted to resist any which way another tried to move her body… at this point, there’s no way she would have been able to. Just reaching out to grasp at a passing leg, just clutching at her robe and using the flares of pain from her broken fingers to try and keep her mind in the present rather than left behind in Heaven’s Gate… that’s all the physical control she has left. Even if she wasn’t the sallow skin and bone of years spent living hand to mouth, fighting the black sludge’s corruption and the call of the Gate has left her drained and weak.
And it’s not like she doesn’t want it. This man? is warm, his touch is gentle, and her memory-hazed vision can’t see anything to fear in his face or hear it in his voice. In fact… she sees white instead. Soft, large white wings like the cheap paintings hung in Laura’s home, depicting the angels of her faith that guarded over humankind… Even if she had never believed…
Beggars can’t be choosers. Surely an angel would grant her mercy.
Maybe it already was. In her five years of memory, she had never been held like this. She has been awkwardly embraced, she has turned her head to the side to try and avoid the stench of alcohol and tobacco panted heavy against her lips, she has closed her eyes and let fingers tighten in her hair and push her face into the pillow, but no one had ever touched her like this. Yet rather than deep bitterness or hatred for such a life-]
No… I loved it… I did…
[A life with feeling, when she had eaten because she liked the taste of food, slept because she wanted to, did things for others for no reason at all, and learned how to laugh. She doesn’t want to die because her life has been miserable, even if any other person might label it so.]
But I don’t want to go back… I don’t want to kill anymore, so please…
[Held tenderly in strong arms, her body limp and exhausted in between the pained writhing of a glow and a power attempting to take over her body and mind while the Kenoma attempted to worm into her heart, she gropes weakly for a hand, tries to tug it up, up past the three large pierce scars on her torso that should have left her dead on the concrete, up to her throat.
She’d asked Hei, pulled his hand to her neck in this same way, but he… he wasn’t a proper Contractor at all. He’d been naive enough to want her to survive despite the odds, told her could live, run far away, go back to those quiet days she had loved…
But that life bleeding out in an alley with three spears of ice in her chest is worlds away.
cw: prostitution
And it’s not like she doesn’t want it. This man? is warm, his touch is gentle, and her memory-hazed vision can’t see anything to fear in his face or hear it in his voice. In fact… she sees white instead. Soft, large white wings like the cheap paintings hung in Laura’s home, depicting the angels of her faith that guarded over humankind… Even if she had never believed…
Beggars can’t be choosers. Surely an angel would grant her mercy.
Maybe it already was. In her five years of memory, she had never been held like this. She has been awkwardly embraced, she has turned her head to the side to try and avoid the stench of alcohol and tobacco panted heavy against her lips, she has closed her eyes and let fingers tighten in her hair and push her face into the pillow, but no one had ever touched her like this. Yet rather than deep bitterness or hatred for such a life-]
No… I loved it… I did…
[A life with feeling, when she had eaten because she liked the taste of food, slept because she wanted to, did things for others for no reason at all, and learned how to laugh. She doesn’t want to die because her life has been miserable, even if any other person might label it so.]
But I don’t want to go back… I don’t want to kill anymore, so please…
[Held tenderly in strong arms, her body limp and exhausted in between the pained writhing of a glow and a power attempting to take over her body and mind while the Kenoma attempted to worm into her heart, she gropes weakly for a hand, tries to tug it up, up past the three large pierce scars on her torso that should have left her dead on the concrete, up to her throat.
She’d asked Hei, pulled his hand to her neck in this same way, but he… he wasn’t a proper Contractor at all. He’d been naive enough to want her to survive despite the odds, told her could live, run far away, go back to those quiet days she had loved…
But that life bleeding out in an alley with three spears of ice in her chest is worlds away.
And now, any hand will do.]