[ no more waiting for newt to hesitate on the bridge of his humanity, still as the hour of death as his finger trembles. alina's heartbeat echoes in her chest like the ringing of a grand bell, a signal that can only mean one thing: now or never.
determinedly, she chooses now.
the shadowy cranny just behind the door has welcomed her like a long-time friend, returning her to her roots of sneaking through the world, unseen and unexemplary. so when she twists around the corner, it's without a warning; rhys' can have his words, as flowery and pretty as they've always been, but alina ...
is all thorns and brambles. she breaks into a vicious velocity as she rounds the corner like an animal ready to pounce, throwing all of her weight into the sudden leap she takes at newt's back. glass scattered along the train cart slices into her bare feet in the process, but it's a sting of distant pain lost in the haze of adrenaline. inconsequential, next to making sure that little silver box is knocked away from him.
like any other wild creature, she knows this is it: that last chance they have for surviving. she's never been inclined to just roll over and die when death tries to hold her down by the scruff; she's devoted to making sure newt — newt, or whatever inhabitant has taken over his body like a virus — knows it, too, as she foregoes the civility of her dagger for something more personal than a blade to the back.
in a flash, she bites downs into the meat of his shoulder with the same ferocity of a starved dog, uncaring that she's immediately assaulted by the stomach-churning taste of copper behind her teeth — his blood, or someone else's, where it flecks across his suit jacket like a drying stain of gruesome paint chips. ]
no subject
determinedly, she chooses now.
the shadowy cranny just behind the door has welcomed her like a long-time friend, returning her to her roots of sneaking through the world, unseen and unexemplary. so when she twists around the corner, it's without a warning; rhys' can have his words, as flowery and pretty as they've always been, but alina ...
is all thorns and brambles. she breaks into a vicious velocity as she rounds the corner like an animal ready to pounce, throwing all of her weight into the sudden leap she takes at newt's back. glass scattered along the train cart slices into her bare feet in the process, but it's a sting of distant pain lost in the haze of adrenaline. inconsequential, next to making sure that little silver box is knocked away from him.
like any other wild creature, she knows this is it: that last chance they have for surviving. she's never been inclined to just roll over and die when death tries to hold her down by the scruff; she's devoted to making sure newt — newt, or whatever inhabitant has taken over his body like a virus — knows it, too, as she foregoes the civility of her dagger for something more personal than a blade to the back.
in a flash, she bites downs into the meat of his shoulder with the same ferocity of a starved dog, uncaring that she's immediately assaulted by the stomach-churning taste of copper behind her teeth — his blood, or someone else's, where it flecks across his suit jacket like a drying stain of gruesome paint chips. ]