Your bandages, your bullet holes like mine
WHO: Erza Scarlet thetitania
WHAT: Titania falls. [Nightmare]
WHERE: Lucy's home[that Erza has totally invaded]. Then the outskirts of the city, near the jungle.
WHEN: Tonight.
"Nee-san! Over here!"
"Erza, hurry up, or we'll be found by those guys."
Erza was nineteen years old, running, the familiar weight of her armor moving with her, but she was also eleven years old and somewhere else. Terrified. Tired, hungry. Dirt caked her hair and face, gathered under her fingernails. She was covered in bruises and scars. Some were old, others were newer. Blood traced a path down a shallow wound on her forehead, curving against her cheekbone and sticking there.
Why didn't she have her armor?
And another voice came, soft, and somewhat distant. She realized it was her own.
You didn't have it then, remember?
That's right. She didn't have her armor then. All she had were her old nakama who were as lonely and frightened and wounded as she was. All she had was Gérard, who had been her hero. She may have even loved him, once. Gérard was always the bravest and strongest of them, and she...Erza in those days was so very, very weak--
The scene changed--
"--LOUSY BRATS!" A whip snapped in the air, that unfriendly, familiar sound. Erza curled in close to her nakama, her small body trembling in fear. "DID YOU REALLY THINK YOU COULD ESCAPE THAT EASILY?!" The whip cracked again. Erza flinched.
Another voice, adult and sickeningly sweet. She could hear the leer in that voice.
"Who was the mastermind behind this escape? Only that person will be held accountable. The rest of you will get off with a slap on the wrist." Laughter, and beyond her fear Erza felt something dark and angry curl in her stomach. Hatred. The children shook, they did not speak. Only one stood to his feet.
Gérard. "It was me." His voice never wavered, never trembled. Not once did the boy shed a tear. "I planned it all and told them what to do."
The slaver paused, made a thoughtful noise. Then he moved through the throng of emaciated children and zeroed in on Erza. He smiled, and her eyes widened. She knew what he meant to do, and that this time she wasn't safe. "It was the girl, wasn't it?"
He snatched her up, amidst Gérard's protests, his screams: "IT WAS ME! I PLANNED IT ALL! IT WASN'T ERZA!"
Erza was shaking so badly she could barely speak, but she smiled for him. Her hero. She would be brave for Gérard, she had to be. "D-don't worry about me...I'll be fine." Her voice cracked.
"ERZA!"
"It's just like you said, Gérard," she said, still smiling as she was pulled away, "It's not scary at all."
Only after she heard the scuffle of him struggling to reach her, did she begin to cry.
----
It was always impossible to prepare herself for the first blow. It came suddenly, a slash of fire across her back, a fist connecting with her stomach. A burst of pain near her side. She thought they would let up after a while--they usually did after ten minutes or so, but today the blows did not stop. There was a sudden explosion of agony in her right eye, a splintering of light, like a view of sunshine through broken glass. Her vision flickered in that eye for the briefest of instants.
Then there was the blood, and silence.
----
--fighting. A boy's panicked voice brought her back to a state of semi consciousness. The world was a blurry, amorphous blob of painful light and color. The right side of her face felt numb. Blood clung to her hair, turned her skin a coppery, sickly red. When she talked, she sounded clumsy and slow even to herself. There was a taste like cotton in her mouth.
"...Gé...rard...is that you?"
"--rza! Thank--dness!! I--to save you!"
He had come, just as she hoped he would. But something was wrong...something was wrong with her eye. Her arms were tied back. She couldn't move; everything hurt too much.
"H...how?"
What was left of her vision turned spotty, and now Gérard's voice sounded faint and far away. He was so close, but he was leaving her...or she was leaving him.
"There's no going back now. We have to fight."
----
Erza woke up and could not stifle the terrified, stricken scream that came instinctively. But it was a muffled, weak sound--the beating she'd just endured in her dream seemed to have followed her in the waking world. Blood poured from fresh wounds, and she realized, with a steadily rising panic, that she had no idea where she was. She raised a hand up to where the pain was the worst: her right eye, and when she pulled her hand away it was slick and warm with blood.
There was something lying face-down in the mud. Erza stumbled over to it, and pain blazed a path up her side and settled somewhere near her ribs. She fell to her knees and shakily opened up the book.
It occurred to her that she was shivering.
She didn't care.
WHAT: Titania falls. [Nightmare]
WHERE: Lucy's home[that Erza has totally invaded]. Then the outskirts of the city, near the jungle.
WHEN: Tonight.
"Nee-san! Over here!"
"Erza, hurry up, or we'll be found by those guys."
Erza was nineteen years old, running, the familiar weight of her armor moving with her, but she was also eleven years old and somewhere else. Terrified. Tired, hungry. Dirt caked her hair and face, gathered under her fingernails. She was covered in bruises and scars. Some were old, others were newer. Blood traced a path down a shallow wound on her forehead, curving against her cheekbone and sticking there.
Why didn't she have her armor?
And another voice came, soft, and somewhat distant. She realized it was her own.
You didn't have it then, remember?
That's right. She didn't have her armor then. All she had were her old nakama who were as lonely and frightened and wounded as she was. All she had was Gérard, who had been her hero. She may have even loved him, once. Gérard was always the bravest and strongest of them, and she...Erza in those days was so very, very weak--
The scene changed--
"--LOUSY BRATS!" A whip snapped in the air, that unfriendly, familiar sound. Erza curled in close to her nakama, her small body trembling in fear. "DID YOU REALLY THINK YOU COULD ESCAPE THAT EASILY?!" The whip cracked again. Erza flinched.
Another voice, adult and sickeningly sweet. She could hear the leer in that voice.
"Who was the mastermind behind this escape? Only that person will be held accountable. The rest of you will get off with a slap on the wrist." Laughter, and beyond her fear Erza felt something dark and angry curl in her stomach. Hatred. The children shook, they did not speak. Only one stood to his feet.
Gérard. "It was me." His voice never wavered, never trembled. Not once did the boy shed a tear. "I planned it all and told them what to do."
The slaver paused, made a thoughtful noise. Then he moved through the throng of emaciated children and zeroed in on Erza. He smiled, and her eyes widened. She knew what he meant to do, and that this time she wasn't safe. "It was the girl, wasn't it?"
He snatched her up, amidst Gérard's protests, his screams: "IT WAS ME! I PLANNED IT ALL! IT WASN'T ERZA!"
Erza was shaking so badly she could barely speak, but she smiled for him. Her hero. She would be brave for Gérard, she had to be. "D-don't worry about me...I'll be fine." Her voice cracked.
"ERZA!"
"It's just like you said, Gérard," she said, still smiling as she was pulled away, "It's not scary at all."
Only after she heard the scuffle of him struggling to reach her, did she begin to cry.
----
It was always impossible to prepare herself for the first blow. It came suddenly, a slash of fire across her back, a fist connecting with her stomach. A burst of pain near her side. She thought they would let up after a while--they usually did after ten minutes or so, but today the blows did not stop. There was a sudden explosion of agony in her right eye, a splintering of light, like a view of sunshine through broken glass. Her vision flickered in that eye for the briefest of instants.
Then there was the blood, and silence.
----
--fighting. A boy's panicked voice brought her back to a state of semi consciousness. The world was a blurry, amorphous blob of painful light and color. The right side of her face felt numb. Blood clung to her hair, turned her skin a coppery, sickly red. When she talked, she sounded clumsy and slow even to herself. There was a taste like cotton in her mouth.
"...Gé...rard...is that you?"
"--rza! Thank--dness!! I--to save you!"
He had come, just as she hoped he would. But something was wrong...something was wrong with her eye. Her arms were tied back. She couldn't move; everything hurt too much.
"H...how?"
What was left of her vision turned spotty, and now Gérard's voice sounded faint and far away. He was so close, but he was leaving her...or she was leaving him.
"There's no going back now. We have to fight."
----
Erza woke up and could not stifle the terrified, stricken scream that came instinctively. But it was a muffled, weak sound--the beating she'd just endured in her dream seemed to have followed her in the waking world. Blood poured from fresh wounds, and she realized, with a steadily rising panic, that she had no idea where she was. She raised a hand up to where the pain was the worst: her right eye, and when she pulled her hand away it was slick and warm with blood.
There was something lying face-down in the mud. Erza stumbled over to it, and pain blazed a path up her side and settled somewhere near her ribs. She fell to her knees and shakily opened up the book.
It occurred to her that she was shivering.
She didn't care.