Wallace
Lacey..
Her coat shuddered and she winced, the only movement she'd made in -however long she'd been lying here. Blood ran freely from her wounds, and yet went entirely unnoticed. The physical pain could not compare to the damage done to her... heart. Yes, it seemed she did have one after all, viper-tongued Wallace had a beating heart like the rest of the world.
Lacey.
Brown eyes stared at -something, but nothing was really seen or acknowledged. She stared hard, blinking slowly only when her eyes forced her to. Her mind, though, was focused inward, withdrawn completely inside herself. Nightmares played out, stuck on repeat. A stuttering breath quaked out of her like a dry sob. There was no weeping, not now. Dried tears crusted her cheek where they'd streamed so freely before, with abandon. Now, she wasn't sure she could weep anymore; she shouldn't be able to. So much already, here in her solitude. Dried up.
You brought this on yourself, they'll say. Saucy Wallace probably tempted the wrong man this time. Bit off more than she could chew. She probably begged for it, actually, she was always a terrible girl. That tongue too sharp, those eyes too bold. And did you see the way she curled up with Ashley as though she owned him? Yes, that wretched girl probably brought it on herself. Got what she deserved.
Oh, look. Not entirely dry. Her eye moistened just a little, not enough to climb the lip of her eye and become a real tear. Just a pretender like Lacey.
All around were browns and whites of winter, and yet all she saw was silver. A man of iron. He had the power to call on the iron in her blood, force her in to whatever positions he wished; and he did. Oh, he had done that. He loved it. She was so drab and boring, and somehow that intrigued him. So much so, that he fixed it, made her beautiful in his way. He hated her name from the start, named her Lacey instead, and with sharpened iron he drew in her skin. Little elegant laces now rested on her flanks like a permanent lingerie, by his artist's careful hand.
Lacey.
Her hair had been so matted and disheveled. He'd loved her, cared for her. Took his time to groom her til every last tangle was freed. She'd never felt so looked-after in her life, an orphan who'd lost everyone and had to make it on her own. He admired his work after, told her she was beautiful -that had been so nice too, dull Wallace was beautiful- but something was still missing, he'd said. And his metal blade had shorn her mane, trimmed it short like a child's. She'd worked so hard to be an adult in their eyes, and now she was a child again.
She lay in a drying pool of her blood. All manner of body fluids -his, hers- matted and dried into her coat.
And Lacey could do nothing, but try to remember to breathe. Just breathe.
In.
Out.
Like him.
@[Reilly] @[Sabrael] @[Ashley]