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Days Past
Topic Started: Jun 7 2016, 10:49 AM (16 Views)
Cambrysiel
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Startling breath, precious breath, coming back into her lungs. A form half-repaired, gorey parts still rebuilding and the sinews of muscles were struggling to take in the fullness of flesh. Another breath, this one more like a gasp, and her eyes opened wide. Life was restored, and the shock of it had her rolling on near-broken. The strength it took to crawl, like a damned beast, to reach something more solid for her to hold onto. When numb fingers touched stone, and she felt her senses somewhat returning to a bearable turn, her gaze turned to the room.

The dormitory was how she remembered it: bleak and desolate, desolate and bleak, with a sprinkle of dust for good measure. There sat a pile of smoldering papers and books in the corner where Bethany had thrown her lighter, her final act before she slept was an attempt to warm the pair that'd been near death.

Careful consideration makes the static, cold air around her halt and rot for a while in stagnancy before she dares to speak again, before she dares to weave words again: "I'm..." A whisper and a pause, although her thought is obvious to all. Alive? Not a corpse, and not a body. Bethany moved a hand in front of her face and flexed her fingers. Everything appeared to be in working order -- ah! Memories of just what had led her here begin to trickle into her second-vision and she snaps her gaze around the room.

Empty. Abandoned, like she had been. Not so much as a scrap of paper left behind. Beth grumbles something to herself, something about the boy with the cosmoline and how he could have at least left a note. She had to figure, right now, that the boy had taken her place amongst their peers. He'd always seemed so... Bethany couldn't place a finger on it. She wonders if he worried about her when she first fell into the dark oblivion of unconsciousness. How long did he stay? Did he perform any first aid on her? Did he see the scar?

Beth looks down - she was still naked from the waist up. No wonder she was chilled to the bone. A nice, inch-long scab displayed just below the afflicted area, small black dots criss-crossing along either side. Stitches. She can't help but to cringe at the thought of his rough hands, trembling from the cold, trying to thread a needle throughandthroughandthrough her skin with pinpricks until the slabs of flesh were yanked back together.

And where was her bag? God, she was so hungry. So thirsty. So tired, still, from the cold. A blanket (thankfully not the one she had draped over Stanislaw, which had stiff spots throughout) had been draped over her shoulders sometime in her immaculate slumber, but it did little to keep the dampness of the snow out, nor did it heat her bones within. Nonetheless, she wraps the violet corners around her shoulders as she slowly rises, praying it might give her some semblance of warmth as she searched for her things.

Sluggish steps carry her around the dormitory and she observes the belongings of once-students that had long since been left behind and forgotten. Three trophies sat gathering dust on a shelf to her right. She plucks one off and studies it, reads the plaque on the front: Leonard Weiser, Best Épée. The next, Viktor Barton, Fastest Long-Distance Swimmer. Bethany smiles as she runs her thumb along the text indentions, thinking of her own trophies tucked away in a box back home. She goes back to pacing around the room, hugging the blanket tight around her shoulders and torso. A hand snaked out once she reaches the desk, plucks a family photo from it. But - no, not a family photo. It was three friends... two of whom she recognized. One of whom she had killed. A rush of air left Bethany's lips as she collapsed into the plush desk chair left at the desk, leaning back (and she was pleasantly surprised when the chair rocked back with her).
Edited by Cambrysiel, Jun 7 2016, 10:58 AM.
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