The world came back into focus too quickly to bear, almost, and Va'al almost had the piety to pray for a few more moments of unconsciousness, where pain was gone and the world was a little kinder. Unfortunately, reality was much crueler, and first came the pound of her head and then the ache of everything else. Her lips parted, and the sound she makes is nothing sentient, a mix between an anguished sob though her eyes were dry, and a rasp for air. Her lips were cracked, and she was sure that if the weather had been hot instead of nearly freezing, the leak of blood from her broken nose and abraised skin would have been sticky and miserable instead of nearly frozen to the fine hairs of her skin.
She wasn't aware of how long she'd been unconscious, the dim lights of the street lamps and the low glow of the sun making it hard to tell what position it was in, how close it was until darkness. Her nose was broken, that was obvious from the way the cartilage clicked in it when she dared lift her fingers to it, trying to figure out if she'd be able to breathe through it any time soon. Breathing through her mouth was still an option, but one of her lips had been split with a fierce punch, and it stung furiously whenever the mist of her breath rose from shaky exhales. Hopefully no ribs were broken, even though she nearly wheezed softly with each breath from how badly she'd been bruised.
What number of kicks had been hailed down her in the flurry of her attack? Her arms shook as she used them to push herself to sit up, wary as her gaze cut to try and find any evidence of her attackers. Nothing, just the silence of the alley. Maybe they'd left her for dead, seeing the blood from her face and how her body had crumpled without the protection of her magic. An easy target in the face of a group who had taken it upon themselves to knock her down a peg, those who had eyed the chance of putting a Silven in her place and enjoyed it.
Her fingers curled into fists at her side, burying numb fingers in the chill of the snow. The cold had numbed her pain, but now that she was awake and trying to move, her own body heat was a traitor that had her aching. The faces of her attackers floated through her mind, hazy from the blows to the head she'd taken, but she tries to burn them into her memory. Standing was worse than sitting, with the ache of some of the bruises that dotted her legs hurting all the way to the bone. Waking, she had been miserable, but the more she focused on the embarrassment of being beaten so badly, the more the tight knot in her chest seemed to expand. It pushed at her lungs, making her exhales short and soft, and if she'd have been able to move freely, she would have punched a wall.
For now, she pushed her weight onto the nearest wall to support her, shoving winter roses out of the way to avoid being seen by any who would find pleasure in seeing her brought so low. The thorns scrape at her, and as the knot of angry energy in her chest seems to pop, she gripped a fistful of blood red petals and crushed it in her palm.
They'd pay. Every one of those Nordmark bastards, Nou, who should have known to not cross her as another Shendar alone. Cae, who dared to lift a fist against her. Her eyes burned with tears, but they're more out of the fury building in her than the misery of her defeat. Shame scorches her cheeks a darker color, and it's the anger alone that pushes her on at a hesitant stagger, leaning heavily against the wall to keep her standing. Va'al would stick to the shadows now, faced with the disgrace of going to find somewhere to treat her wounds where she wouldn't risk another attack, and from there, she would start planning. Leveia had limits that she had been forced to face today, and it was a bitter truth that she couldn't rely too heavily on it. This was fine, she would learn to adapt, she would learn to work around not having the butterflies that should have protected her from this humiliation.
Her grip loosened on the flower she'd crushed in her iron grip, and as the petals fell from her hand, they left a crushed trail of red in her wake.
The world came back into focus too quickly to bear, almost, and Va'al almost had the piety to pray for a few more moments of unconsciousness, where pain was gone and the world was a little kinder. Unfortunately, reality was much crueler, and first came the pound of her head and then the ache of everything else. Her lips parted, and the sound she makes is nothing sentient, a mix between an anguished sob though her eyes were dry, and a rasp for air. Her lips were cracked, and she was sure that if the weather had been hot instead of nearly freezing, the leak of blood from her broken nose and abraised skin would have been sticky and miserable instead of nearly frozen to the fine hairs of her skin.
She wasn't aware of how long she'd been unconscious, the dim lights of the street lamps and the low glow of the sun making it hard to tell what position it was in, how close it was until darkness. Her nose was broken, that was obvious from the way the cartilage clicked in it when she dared lift her fingers to it, trying to figure out if she'd be able to breathe through it any time soon. Breathing through her mouth was still an option, but one of her lips had been split with a fierce punch, and it stung furiously whenever the mist of her breath rose from shaky exhales. Hopefully no ribs were broken, even though she nearly wheezed softly with each breath from how badly she'd been bruised.
What number of kicks had been hailed down her in the flurry of her attack? Her arms shook as she used them to push herself to sit up, wary as her gaze cut to try and find any evidence of her attackers. Nothing, just the silence of the alley. Maybe they'd left her for dead, seeing the blood from her face and how her body had crumpled without the protection of her magic. An easy target in the face of a group who had taken it upon themselves to knock her down a peg, those who had eyed the chance of putting a Silven in her place and enjoyed it.
Her fingers curled into fists at her side, burying numb fingers in the chill of the snow. The cold had numbed her pain, but now that she was awake and trying to move, her own body heat was a traitor that had her aching. The faces of her attackers floated through her mind, hazy from the blows to the head she'd taken, but she tries to burn them into her memory. Standing was worse than sitting, with the ache of some of the bruises that dotted her legs hurting all the way to the bone. Waking, she had been miserable, but the more she focused on the embarrassment of being beaten so badly, the more the tight knot in her chest seemed to expand. It pushed at her lungs, making her exhales short and soft, and if she'd have been able to move freely, she would have punched a wall.
For now, she pushed her weight onto the nearest wall to support her, shoving winter roses out of the way to avoid being seen by any who would find pleasure in seeing her brought so low. The thorns scrape at her, and as the knot of angry energy in her chest seems to pop, she gripped a fistful of blood red petals and crushed it in her palm.
They'd pay. Every one of those Nordmark bastards, Nou, who should have known to not cross her as another Shendar alone. Cae, who dared to lift a fist against her. Her eyes burned with tears, but they're more out of the fury building in her than the misery of her defeat. Shame scorches her cheeks a darker color, and it's the anger alone that pushes her on at a hesitant stagger, leaning heavily against the wall to keep her standing. Va'al would stick to the shadows now, faced with the disgrace of going to find somewhere to treat her wounds where she wouldn't risk another attack, and from there, she would start planning. Leveia had limits that she had been forced to face today, and it was a bitter truth that she couldn't rely too heavily on it. This was fine, she would learn to adapt, she would learn to work around not having the butterflies that should have protected her from this humiliation.
Her grip loosened on the flower she'd crushed in her iron grip, and as the petals fell from her hand, they left a crushed trail of red in her wake.
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