✥ Ϝirst Blood Drop
[ Blood. Lots of it actually. And even though it’s dark, there isn’t something quite right about that blood. It’s dark -too dark- and thick, clinging to the thick cream colored material that flows to the ground from the torso the blood originated from. ]
Driretlan. Driretlan! Come to my aid. Do as I have asked!
[ There’s pain in those words, and a hand covered in lace and rings pressed to a large gash along her ribcage, tips caught in the torn fabric, the blood pulsing out slowly, as thought the heartbeat was almost gone, coating the chains hanging from her neck, staining them crimson. ]
Infernal child.
[ Disdain takes precedence over her tone this time, followed by a sharp hiss and the clatter of a blade falling to the ground. Her face hovers in the field of vision. Why, it is but a child, or at least it appears to be. Her hair, long and ratted, caked in dirt and blood, her face smeared with soot, and splattered with blood. Her eyes tho, are a piercing sapphire, and fall upon the device, taking notice of it, and the fact that it is recording. ]
Hear me and hear me well: I shall not die here. I will not fall to your kind. You will be the ones to fall to my blade. That I promise you.
[ With her face contorted with pain, Verlaine stands, her steps staggering, before the weight of her body causes them to collapse again, her back falling against the side of the building she had before been using to keep her self upright, the screen fading to black with a whisper of static ]
Driretlan. Driretlan! Come to my aid. Do as I have asked!
[ There’s pain in those words, and a hand covered in lace and rings pressed to a large gash along her ribcage, tips caught in the torn fabric, the blood pulsing out slowly, as thought the heartbeat was almost gone, coating the chains hanging from her neck, staining them crimson. ]
Infernal child.
[ Disdain takes precedence over her tone this time, followed by a sharp hiss and the clatter of a blade falling to the ground. Her face hovers in the field of vision. Why, it is but a child, or at least it appears to be. Her hair, long and ratted, caked in dirt and blood, her face smeared with soot, and splattered with blood. Her eyes tho, are a piercing sapphire, and fall upon the device, taking notice of it, and the fact that it is recording. ]
Hear me and hear me well: I shall not die here. I will not fall to your kind. You will be the ones to fall to my blade. That I promise you.
[ With her face contorted with pain, Verlaine stands, her steps staggering, before the weight of her body causes them to collapse again, her back falling against the side of the building she had before been using to keep her self upright, the screen fading to black with a whisper of static ]