Noelle sat in her little house at her rather small desk with a thin piece of paper and nearly empty jar of ink.
She hummed slightly writing out names and numbers that would be mean less to anyone else, her hand writing neat after the many letters she had written during her time working at the Golden Willow under the Kade that was named traitor by both sides of the war. She set down the quill, her fingertips stained the slightest from the black ink. The smell made her head spin for a moment: it was awful.
She shook her head and brushed her fingers against the slice on her cheek, a thin marking of ink trailing across it gently. She pulled her hand back, eyes on the writer's ink and shook her hand a little, of course getting nothing from it other then a splattering of ink across her paper.
The bartender frowned as the ink dripped off her fingers like water.
Drip
Drip
Drip
She turned her hand over and could not see where the strange ink was coming from. Sure there wasn't that much on her fingers?
She wiped her hand on her white skirt, lines of thick ink stripes going across it and still the ink dripped. She stood and walked across the room to the kitchen, thrusting her hand into the water of the sink, but soon enough the water just turned black!
Her hands flew to her throat as she felt blood falling down from her cut. Pulling her hands back she saw only the ebony colored stains on her hands.
Her wounds all began to seep blackness, from her cut cheek to healing throat to the bandage on her broken wrist. The smell was overpowering, making her tilt slightly. She fell to te floor, a simple phrase spinning around and around in her head.
Black blood.
Black blood.
Black blood.
Nothing good bled black blood, she told herself, clasping her hands around her throat to stop its flow from her injury. She felt her mind go fuzzy and her head dropped back to the floor with a loud thump.
When she opened her eyes she found herself on the floor besides of desk, the paper laid not far away. Her fingers pressed to her throat and found no inky blood. She stood, stumbling to a drawer and opening it. Digging around after a bit, the trembling woman pulled a small, illegal mirror from it and held it up to see herself. Nothing was different but the dark, tired spots under her eyes.
And the black handprints of someone that appeared to have tried to kill her. She looked down at the hand that didn't hold the mirror.
It was stained black as ink.
The mirror fell to the floor with a crack.
