No More Safety Net
Cold. Shivering. Feverish.
The assassin known as Cheshire sits up on the floor of the cave, blood dripping down on her lap from a gash on her forehead. She shudders and takes in a deep breath, helping herself up, trying not to touch the gash with a poison-tipped claw.
She looks around, breathing heavily, worried. It's dark, and Chop Chop is gone. She's alone again, and slowly losing her grip on reality.
The safety net that is Hera is still there, but Cheshire doesn't realize that, or she doesn't remember it.
Blacking out does that to a woman.
She leans against the craggy, rough wall of the cave, trying to see in the dark.
She can't.
That worries her, and she Cheshire doesn't like feeling worried. It's not the way an assassin should feel. Ever.
The assassin known as Cheshire sits up on the floor of the cave, blood dripping down on her lap from a gash on her forehead. She shudders and takes in a deep breath, helping herself up, trying not to touch the gash with a poison-tipped claw.
She looks around, breathing heavily, worried. It's dark, and Chop Chop is gone. She's alone again, and slowly losing her grip on reality.
The safety net that is Hera is still there, but Cheshire doesn't realize that, or she doesn't remember it.
Blacking out does that to a woman.
She leans against the craggy, rough wall of the cave, trying to see in the dark.
She can't.
That worries her, and she Cheshire doesn't like feeling worried. It's not the way an assassin should feel. Ever.