[ Ophilia makes her best effort while still on the ground to move away from him as he approaches, every part of her fighting to put more distance between her and her attacker-- or, or conjure up some of her healing magic for herself, or something because this can't be the end, this can't-- ] Hrk--
[ Her reaction to being lifted up by her hair is violent in how painful it is, her body protesting entirely with tension before she lets out a strangled gasp as her feet struggle to find purchase upon the ground below her. Her lips have already grown pale, her breaths rasping and short, wheezing, quick and shallow. Shadows encroach on her eyesight when she feels his fingers brushing along her neck, and she swallows, shivering at his touch, at the thought that he could end it all right now.
For a moment she closes her eyes, and she wonders, briefly, if she did good here. If she did enough. If what she had managed to build here, meeting others and playing out this single scene, was helpful to restoring this broken world. She would like to believe it was.
She hopes it was. ] I...
[ It hurts.
It hurts so much, she can barely breathe. The side of her chest feels as if it's collapsed in on itself, her throat feels small, the air feels thin.
This isn't the first time one of her friends has hurt her so. The last time had been painful enough, a twisting knife plunging deep into her side, leaving her bleeding out, leaving her bedridden for days. But just like then, her sentiments will be the same: ] ...Whatever happens, know that I already forgive you.
[ All she can see before her is cruel, yellow eyes and a crooked smile: a monster that has taken over a his body, using him to cause harm. ] B-..because [ She chokes. ] this isn't who you really are. [ The Disciple she knows never wears such a smile, never holds such malice. He is aloof and serious, to be sure, but he is never cruel. Not like this. It's almost as painful as the injury itself, she finds, to witness someone she knows transform into a being like this. The real Disciple wouldn't do this. She's sure of it. The real Disciple would have been one of the first to protect someone. ] ...I'm sorry.
[ She lifts up a hand to his wrist, or tries to. For in the next moment it falls limply to her side, falling unconscious. ]
no subject
[ Her reaction to being lifted up by her hair is violent in how painful it is, her body protesting entirely with tension before she lets out a strangled gasp as her feet struggle to find purchase upon the ground below her. Her lips have already grown pale, her breaths rasping and short, wheezing, quick and shallow. Shadows encroach on her eyesight when she feels his fingers brushing along her neck, and she swallows, shivering at his touch, at the thought that he could end it all right now.
For a moment she closes her eyes, and she wonders, briefly, if she did good here. If she did enough. If what she had managed to build here, meeting others and playing out this single scene, was helpful to restoring this broken world. She would like to believe it was.
She hopes it was. ] I...
[ It hurts.
It hurts so much, she can barely breathe. The side of her chest feels as if it's collapsed in on itself, her throat feels small, the air feels thin.
This isn't the first time one of her friends has hurt her so. The last time had been painful enough, a twisting knife plunging deep into her side, leaving her bleeding out, leaving her bedridden for days. But just like then, her sentiments will be the same: ] ...Whatever happens, know that I already forgive you.
[ All she can see before her is cruel, yellow eyes and a crooked smile: a monster that has taken over a his body, using him to cause harm. ] B-..because [ She chokes. ] this isn't who you really are. [ The Disciple she knows never wears such a smile, never holds such malice. He is aloof and serious, to be sure, but he is never cruel. Not like this. It's almost as painful as the injury itself, she finds, to witness someone she knows transform into a being like this. The real Disciple wouldn't do this. She's sure of it. The real Disciple would have been one of the first to protect someone. ] ...I'm sorry.
[ She lifts up a hand to his wrist, or tries to. For in the next moment it falls limply to her side, falling unconscious. ]