frigida corda ; penelope v. curtus ; day seven

[eulalie blake 1a 🍒 tris]

I cannot brush the snow from my hair.

It is a crown of frost — a sign of acceptance. There are many things I cannot change, and this is one. I am a girl without hands, marching through the woods on my own. And I am covered in blood, but it is not mine alone. I have to be grateful for that.

The sun never breaks through the trees, and the silence remains. The bird is at rest on my shoulder, curled against my neck. All creatures seek warmth, but I don't know what I'm looking for. Not anymore.

Even as my footsteps lead me towards home.

This isn't numbness; the cold eats at me like a fire, burning away all of my senses. And I don't know if that is good, or bad, or if there is something between the two. I walk the line with my axes by my hips, a black veil across my face.

When a figure appears on the horizon, I stop shaking. I stare ahead — and I know what must happen here. I have counted down faces in my mind for seven days, until only eight remain. And some are familiar, and others are strangers. All are enemies.

I cannot hide my intentions; they are stuck to my arms, catching what light lingers here. The threads are vibrating around us, but the quiet never yields. "District Three." That's all I know him as, a man in the backstage. Now I'm here with him.

The spotlight does not fall on us.

So I take hold of it;

I shatter the glass beneath my iron touch.

And now the sparks fly around us, little stars dying in the atmosphere. I have known nothing but death for a week now. I am too tired to know anything else. "So, what's our angle here? How are we going to sell this to the audience?"

I force a smile, trying to pretend like my skin doesn't hurt. I am raw, and I am terrible. I chose my loyalty the moment I was reaped; I sold my soul to the Capitol. And I am an actress, even when the cameras are broken on the ground and collecting dust.

The show must go on.

"I've killed three strangers now.
Maybe it would be easier
if there was a narrative."

That makes me laugh, a hollow sound.

"How's this for a story?
I'm the victor, and you're dead."

( penelope attacks curtus ; axe )
6_wgTSvog1axe
( Shallow Cut on Right Hip -- 3.5 damage )

axe

[Kire]

His weapon had taken another bite at Sapphire, sank steel teeth into the flesh of her upper arm, and sliced its own path out. The fire that had been clinging to the blade had disappeared in the instant before the blow landed, leaving no trace he had ever controlled one of the elements. He had not killed her, no, but he had brought her close. Efram's sweeping sword had been what had ended Sapphire. The cannon had fired in the same instant the girl had fell to the ground - separated from her remaining leg.

Reyes' attempt to remove his hand in vengeance had left him with a puncture that made it difficult to use his hand. The gloves he had worn were tattered and useless and he had tossed them. Bell was still fuming as they left the solitary boy behind, still sharp of tongue as they settled down for the night. He, however, felt calm. It was a terrifying calm that came after a hard storm has passed over and you knew another one was about to strike. The eye of the storm, the center of the hurricane. He was there, right now. That past day had been hard but the one to come would be worse - he just knew.

--- --- ---

Staring across the tangled threads that stretched between nonsensical points, he saw her approach. He had seen this girl last when they had all been drawn to an enormous amount of food. The feast placed out by the Gamemakers had seemingly not made anyone sick, but he was still glad he hadn't eaten it. Even knowing what he did now he wouldn't change anything.

"District Three." Her greeting is short, to the point. They both know what this meeting means and are both prepared to follow through with what is required. "So, what's our angle here? How are we going to sell this to the audience?" Her smile looks like it hurts, faked as it was, and he can't muster any emotional response to it. She feels as little as he does, he's sure, but she was trying to pretend it wasn't so.

"I've killed three strangers now. Maybe it would be easier if there was a narrative." He can feel a small twinge in his gut at the number three. In all rights he had killed three things: a tree, a banshee girl, and Fangor. In fact, he had nearly killed Sapphire until Efram had stepped in at the last moment. That as not something to brag about, though, not something he was proud of. He wasn't ashamed of it either.

She laughs, a sound as fake as the smile on her face. His own mouth twists to form a grimace as he watches her. Perhaps this was how it ends, facing down a puppet whose strings are too tight. She's a broken watch that ticks out of time - imperceptible while alone but jarring next to others. "How's this for a story? I'm the victor, and you're dead." Now he has to fight her.

Her movements are fast, but he was ready. What might have caught him in the gut merely sliced shallowly across his hip. This dance was going to be either very short or very long and right now he couldn't say which. All he could do was move and hope. "You might have to try a little harder than that if that's the outcome you want."

He hefts the blade that he had pulled from the hand of a dead little girl, the blade he had killed one person with and nearly taken the life of another. "You're not the only one who has killed people."

^{Table by Griffin}
[Attacks Penelope with Sling Blade]
t1BXoi8oQXglaive
Shallow Cut on Stomach -- 4.0 damage

glaive

[eulalie blake 1a 🍒 tris]

He moves before I can gut him.

And I shouldn't, I know this — but I scoff. I look down at this tribute, this boy who refuses death, and I have the audacity to feel disgust. I pretend like I am not looking at myself. Bloody, and broken, but standing. It will take more than my words to fell him.

His own tongue is just as sharp, rusted along the edges but cutting where it counts. I do not lose my smile as he speaks, the coldness in my eyes. I want him to make me hate him — I need him to make this easier. I am a killer asking for an excuse.

He confirms that he has his own demons, as red and terrible as the blood on his hands. All I have to show are my blades, tarnished from frost and waste. "Do you regret it?" It's not my place to ask, and it's a question I would be unable to answer, but I cannot stop the words.

"Who you've become in here.
Do you regret any of it?"

I tilt my head to the side, smirking at the hidden cameras before they can pick up on my rebellion. I will not be the girl who challenges authority, who questions the system that feeds her; I will accept the bread. I will feast on that poison as long as it keeps me alive.

"I don't." Except I do — except I will never be able to tell him this. "I made a promise to survive, and I'm seeing it through. I won't die." And i will, someday, but I cannot tell myself this. "Even if that means I have to kill everyone in my way."

Maybe I want him to hate me, too.

Maybe we're all looking for excuses.

This one is mine.

"We can't share the crown."

( penelope attacks curtus ; axe )
jEzv29W9ALaxe
( Shallow Cut on Right Thigh -- 3.5 damage )

axe

[Kire]

His own strike is dodged just as he had moved past her own. His weapon did slide across her stomach, leaving a parting in her clothes and a red line streaking like the tail of a comet behind it. She is an equal to him, a killer and a swift evader. He wasn't sure if he reveled in the challenge or was already growing weary of it. Maybe he was simply growing weary of this entire thing, the whole Games and everything he had been forced to do.

Were he to stop and argue with himself he knew he could say that he hadn't truly been forced to do anything. Yes, he had been dragged from his home to this place, but he hadn't been forced to pick up a weapon and swing it. He could have not fought back, he could have let Sapphire or Fangor or even the tree kill him at any time up to this point. Yet here he stood, fighting once more, and facing a girl who had done the same as him. Was she as weary as he was?

His wounds ached. The sleep he had gotten was not the restful, restoring sleep of the badly beaten but the listless near-surface doze of the afraid and uncomfortable. He was all too aware with each movement of his weapon of the burning hole in his palm. Each step sent splinters of cold pain up his slowly-healing leg. He was a mess, a broken and bleeding mess, and this girl had hardly laid any kind of wound on him so far. She wanted this to be easy, but perhaps this wasn't the type of easy she was looking for.

She's looking at him as if she can read his very soul, her eyes clear and focused. "Do you regret it?" He has to think for a moment, but she isn't done yet. "Who you've become in here. Do you regret any of it?" There is a brief silence as they both contemplate her question. They are both struggling with more than just the simple answer, they are also struggling with how much they are willing to share. Even so, he knew that his answer wouldn't change. He had come to far to lie now, especially to a person who he would either kill or die to.

"I don't." Seemingly she had not come to the same decision. "I made a promise to survive, and I'm seeing it through. I won't die." He had told himself these words a few times but at this point he had begun to believe them less and less. Perhaps she did, too. "Even if that means I have to kill everyone in my way." They both knew that they each would kill the other if it came to it. Truthfully it was already coming to that point but the matter of regret was a different story. She pretended to have no feelings, to hold no weight to the lives she had taken beyond as stepping stones to carry her forward in this deadliest game.

The bite of her axe was once again shallow. He was managing to keep himself from losing anything vital, but their dangerous dance was continuing and the first one to make a misstep would be in trouble. As it was, she had an advantage over him that he was doing his best to ignore. "We can't share the crown."

He knew this already, as did she. There was not even the briefest moment where he would wish for a fate like that. Sharing the title of victor with someone, of having been forced to fight only to now be conjoined in the eyes of the Capitol. He had spent too long stuck in a place where he wasn't wanted to be stuck with a forced relationship. Forcibly pushing the notion aside, he attempted to answer her question. Unlike she did, however, he was going to tell the truth - or at least part of it.

"I don't regret it. If I had to do this all again I would do the same things." He shrugged slightly, trying to feign a nonchalance that was fading by the moment. The storm was upon him now and every scrap of calm was being blown away. "I'll keep doing those things if I have to." He sighed quietly, leveling his gaze at her. "We're not so different, I guess."

Shifting his grip on his weapon he readied himself. It was his moment to lead the dance. He had to catch her off guard somehow. If he could land even one solid blow then maybe he could bring her to something closer to his level. She was much more rested than him, much stronger. He couldn't win this back-and-forth so he would have to make a power play.

"If you want the crown so bad, take it from me."

^{Table by Griffin}
[Attacks Penelope with Sling Blade]
eO2lelNWlTglaive
Severed Right Forearm at Elbow -- 9 damage

glaive

[eulalie blake 1a 🍒 tris]

"We're not so different, I guess."

Except he still has hands. Except he is the still the same person that entered this arena — at least on the surface. Something dangerous stirs in me, a flame of jealousy that sparks in the pit of my stomach. I am a moth seeking warmth, wholeness. And then suddenly I'm breathing fire.

Not because I am bitter, and not because I want him to hurt, but because I am. "If you want the crown so bad, take it from me." I am reaching for it, begging for that cruel and glorious touch of gold, when his blade meets my arm and slices through the skin.

My limb hangs from the bend of my elbow, muscles torn and blood spurting — and my axe weighs it down, tearing the flesh until it is nearly stripped from my body. And I can't stop screeching, bringing my other weapon to my teeth and biting into the steel. I taste rust, and my lips sting, but everything is numb compared to this.

This is torture.

And I've been here before, but nothing has prepared me for this moment. This is a different kind of pain, an unfamiliar beast that has come to tear into me. I don't know how to defeat it — I do not know what it wants. But it leaves with a part of me, and I'm left bleeding on the snow.

"Lucky shot." I do not hide the spite in my voice, the vicious glare of my eyes. He saw an opening, and he took it — I am not foolish enough to suggest that I would have not done the same. My voice is raw, cracking in my throat and cutting through me. I choke on the sounds of my pain.

"It will take more than that." I am sure I have made this clear to him, but now I'm saying it to myself. 'It will take more than that to finish me.' Because I'm not — I'm not finished — I'm not ready to go. "Go for my throat. Take off my head."

I stalk closer, legs shaking and severed arm still hanging by my side. "Stab me through the fucking heart. That's what it will take to kill me." I turn on my heel, accepting what I am about to do. I tell myself that I used to be an acrobat — but I never stopped. They can't cut out my identity.

And then I'm spinning on my feet, screaming as my arm and the axe are finally set free — and they sail forward. I am aiming to destroy.

"Did no one ever to teach you not to play with your food?"

I am snarling, tears running down my cheeks. I am feral and broken.

"I'm going to devour you."

( penelope attacks curtus ; throwing axe )
3ucPOy5PjGthrowing axe
( Axe in Thigh -- 8 damage )

throwing axe

[Kire]

The memories of severing Fangor's arm and Sapphire's leg come in a flash as the sensation of slicing through bone once again shudders up his arm. This weapon, this bloodthirsty blade, once again claimed a limb from his opponent. The arm flops at her side, nearly a separate entity now. The girl is screeching, a rending sound like nails on steel. She is wild-eyed as she bites down on her own blade. A moment of agony in her face before she begins to spit venom at him. With one strike he has turned her from a ruined puppet into a snake.

"Lucky shot." Her voice is hoarse from her screaming, a raw sound. "It will take more than that." Her words echo those of Fangor, I won't go down that easily. "Go for my throat. Take off my head." and Sapphire before her You should have gone for something more vital, fucker. He was being endlessly haunted by the past, a constant reverberation of statements said and curses uttered and to top it all off was the never-ending bong bong bong of a bell he hadn't rung for three days.

She's moving, pacing, her eyes locked on his as she looks for her moment. The dangling limb counts the seconds like a pendulum, a back-and-forth motion that is sickening to watch. "Stab me through the fucking heart. That's what it will take to kill me." Her tirade falters for a moment, a calculating pause that sets his heart racing. The storm is picking up, he can feel the drop in pressure, the lifting of all of the hairs on his body that indicate a lightning strike. She is going to hit him hard.

"Did no one ever to teach you not to play with your food?" With a grace that was as terrible as it was beautiful, she kicks off the ground and whips herself around, launching her ruined arm with axe in tow toward him. He stumbles back but not far enough. The blade of the weapon sinks deep in his leg and he grunts in pain. She stands before him, breathing hard. He doesn't know if she is winded or if the tears that are running down her face are choking her. Her snarling is barely comprehensible as language, but he understands. "I'm going to devour you."

He numbly reaches down to release the grip of the limb from the axe embedded in his thigh. He didn't attempt to remove the weapon, despite the extra weight and awkwardness, because of the worry he might simply bleed out should she have hit an artery. Instead, with a slight limp, he positioned himself into a better stance and gathered his energy. He would need to push past his pain in order to fight properly, just as she had done. This fight would be brutal, agonizing, and both of them had to be prepared for that.

"Did you forget your own advice?" His teeth are gritted, the words coming out clipped and harsh. "You're the one claiming you're going to eat me." He scoffs a bit, not because he thinks she can't destroy him where he stands, but because the notion of this girl actually eating him was so ridiculous. This was all ridiculous now. "Maybe stick with bites you can actually chew."

^{Table by Griffin}
[Attacks Penelope with Sling Blade]
E0vKazerJJglaive
Shallow Cut on Back of Head -- 4.5 damage

glaive

[eulalie blake 1a 🍒 tris]

This boy is cruel, and terrible — and not a monster at all. I hate him for it. His voice is cool and edged, but not in a needlessly vicious way. Not like Reyes. And when he cuts into me, he does not kick me when I'm down. He doesn't take the easy shot.

Not like the world.

And here I am, nails digging into the earth — and I've stopped screaming, but my cheeks are still red, and I'm covered in blood. I refuse to let go, even as hands tighten around my throat. My life has become a sort of unconsciousness, blinking in and out of awareness.

I try to focus on my target, on how he reacts to the axe in his thigh — on his words — but I feel faint, nodding my head without even hearing a question. When he strikes, all I can do is turn to the side, tripping over my legs and falling to my knees. His sword catches the back of my head, but the pain pales in comparison to what I have already endured.

"I'll keep that in mind." I reply to him shortly, trying to remember what he said. I allow my head to lull forward, closing my eyes and leaving myself vulnerable. I focus on the wind moving through my hair, the chill of winter. I smell death around me. I do not want to see it.

"Tell me," and I pause long enough to pull myself to my feet, pressing my good axe to a nearby tree to steady myself. "Have I made it easy? Hating me?" I swallow, trying to ease the hoarseness of my voice. "Don't try to sweet talk me. I know I'm horrible."

I am horrible because I need to be — because playing the villain is the safest option. For me, at least; and that's who I have to choose. Here, in this arena, I have to choose myself. I step forward and roll my shoulder back, readying my blade. I will always choose to fight.

"One of us is too selfish to die.
I have to prove that it's me."

( penelope attacks curtus ; axe )
sul1XkkwkGaxe
( Shallow Cut on Right Shoulder -- 3.5 damage )

axe

[Kire]

Her dodge is not nearly as graceful as the move she had just made. It is also not effective enough to get her out of range of his weapon, but it did save her neck from being severed. She had asked him to do as much, challenged him to kill her, but in the end her own self-preservation was too strong to ignore. So instead he opened a wound on the back of her head, taking more than a few strands of hair with him. She's a mess on the ground before him, battered and broken and missing a few pieces. He felt as poorly as she looked, but he knew that she still had an edge on him. Fury and desperation made for a great amount of strength in the last moments. He had witnessed this again and again.

"I'll keep that in mind." She isn't speaking in her performance voice. There is no projection behind her words, just a simply answer. She sounds distracted, as though the conversation has now moved out of first place in her concerns. This makes her dangerous, because a talking foe is a distractable foe. She would not be letting their words pull her from her focus anymore. Or maybe she simply didn't have the means to focus on more than one thing anymore - not with the pain she was experiencing. His own wounds nagged at him, an endless pulsing pain that kept calling to him like the bell that forever rang in his head. Bong bong bong, pain pain pain.

She is trying to get up, a little clumsily but she is managing. "Tell me," she pulls herself straight, sizing him up once more. "Have I made it easy? Hating me?" Her voice is still hoarse, torn and raw from the amount of utter feeling - pain, fear, hatred - that coursed through her. "Don't try to sweet talk me. I know I'm horrible."

He studied her as she swayed, trying to find what to say to this person he barely knew and yet already related to so strongly. He understood her as much as she was a mystery to him and the combination was terrifying and saddening. Even as she comes forward he doesn't have an answer for her. "One of us is too selfish to die. I have to prove that it's me." Her swing is a little too wide to steal his arm, but it still caught him on the shoulder.

They staggered apart, each growing more tired with the passing beats of their hearts. As more blood drained to the ground they each drew simultaneously closer to death and victory. She was right, though, only one of them would live and it was a matter of who could bear to have another name added to their tally. Would he kill two or three people, would she kill three or four? Neither of them would give up until they stood over the other as they died. Selfish. Yes, it was selfish to keep fighting, but the tattoo of kill or die, kill or die repeated as faithfully as his heartbeat.

"I don't hate you. I don't know you well enough to." He couldn't wait for her to regain her footing again, he couldn't keep giving her chances. Why was he letting her have the moments he had denied Fangor and Sapphire? Was he maybe less selfish now, now that he had taken the lives of two others and seen nothing for it?

"Even the selfish can die." Was he saying this as a warning to her, or to himself?

Selfishness didn't protect anyone, neither did selflessness. Only perseverance and skill and not a little luck. He didn't even realize he was speaking as he swung for her once again. "Everyone's luck runs out."

^{Table by Griffin}
[Attacks Penelope with Sling Blade]
H4c0|N2sbGglaive
Block -- 0.0 damage

[Accuracy Day 7]
glaive
Shallow Cut on Right Forearm -- 3.5 damage

glaive·glaive

[eulalie blake 1a 🍒 tris]

When he strikes, it is all I can do to turn to the side. I take the point of his sword to my arm, unable to meet his gaze as it slices through the skin. The pain engulfs me, for a moment, but then it is swallowed by the adrenaline coursing through my veins — by the agony that I have already endured.

I do not want to be numb, but I want to survive.

My body has chosen what sacrifices to make.

This boy is strange, and gentle — gentle in the way that the sky shifts as a storm brews, leaves rustling across the ground. He is a warning sign. And I am taking him seriously, trying to prepare myself for the full force of his power, but there is a part of me that wants to fall to the ground.

Not to die, but to rest; and I have to remind myself that there is no difference between the two. I cannot afford to stop here, to hand him an olive branch and pour out my soul. It trickles out of me, like my blood. Not enough to drown us. And I have sharpened that wood into a blade, and I know what I must do.

I speak as I lower myself to the ground, nudging my bag with my knee and propping it upwards. I try to mask the clumsiness of my actions, the movements of a girl with one hand — but even then it's just a stump, an axe impaled through my flesh. Nothing in me is made to be soft. The snow crunches beneath me, but all I can hear is the rough sound of our breathing.

"I don't hate you, either." I don't know what I feel for him, but I am too tired to give it a name. I just let it rise in me, hoping it will fester into an emotion strong enough for me to kill him. "And maybe that's true, but not for me. Not here." I've hooked my good elbow around the handle of a spare weapon in my bag, jerked it upwards.

"I'm not a gambler, Three.
I'm a winner."

I smile at him, laughing quietly — and then I scream. I shove the severed end of my right arm onto the log splitter leaning against my knee, enough that the fire in my body comes back to life and my vision begins to blur. Enough that I can hold it, even without hands. Call it improvisation, I call it survival.

My weight shifts to the side as I stand up, my stomach rolls — but I catch my footing after a few moments, closing my eyes until the world stops spinning. When I open them, I am staring at my enemy. At the stranger. At the other animal trapped in this cage with me. This needs to be a mercy kill. I am setting us both free.

"You—" my voice cracks, but then I stop.

I cannot finish that sentence.

'You deserve more than this.'

I have to pretend like this is okay.

I have to pretend like I'm okay.

"You fought well.
You can stop now."

( penelope attacks curtus ; spiked blunt )
rMLhYGIAGbspiked blunt
( BROKEN RIGHT KNEE -- 7.0 damage | +1 strength )

spiked blunt

[Kire]

His own words haunt him as his swing goes too wide. He manages to catch her a light blow on the arm but it is not enough. She still has a strength that had starting fading from him long before now. He should have known better than to think he could best her. As she sinks to the ground he wonders for a moment if he had actually done more damage than he had thought, if perhaps he had weakened her as much as she had weakened him. Her awkward attempt to rifle through her things sets him on edge and he is wary of her. Still, she had only one arm.

That was the kind of thinking that would kill him and he knew it. In a place like this you couldn't afford to underestimate anyone, not even the girl you so casually parted from her arm. "I don't hate you, either." The words are resigned, like she wished it was any other way. He couldn't blame her. This might all be quicker, easier, were there some real furiosity behind their attacks. Instead they stood and kneeled here slowly tearing each other apart.

"And maybe that's true, but not for me. Not here." She's tugging on something, pulling a heavy object from the bag and he can't see what it is. He should be running, leaving her alone to bleed out and die, but he can't bring his feet to move. Curiosity about what she is doing and what she is going to say holds him too close to her, like the spark of a live wire draws in the unassuming until they are laying on the floor convulsing from the shock. She's a spark, a dangerous high-voltage system, and he was going to get electrocuted.

"I'm not a gambler, Three. I'm a winner." She's smiling, laughing, and the fact that this time it is more genuine terrifies him. He's waiting for the moment his heart stops, the moment the electricity floods through him and fries him from the inside out.

It comes with a scream, a sharp downward motion, and she is coming at him with a log splitter buried in the stump of her arm. He is too agape to move fast enough, too tired to throw himself aside and out of the way. "You—" She hasn't hit him yet, a brief reprieve, but then she launches herself forward again. "You fought well. You can stop now."

The resounding crack of his knee exploding sounds as loud as a cannon. He isn't sure if that was his cannon or not. The pain is blinding and he can't see or hear anything. All he can feel is the vicious radiating pain that resounded the entire length of his leg. His poor leg, broken in two spots and impaled by an axe. He can't stand anymore.

So he crawls. At first he crawls away to catch his breath. Each movement is agony, each breath shallow and useless. He is alive, but barely. There is little strength in him to move. He isn't sure if he could attack again, let alone if it is worth it to. A lucky blow might save him, but in this state could he manage to be any kind of threat to anyone who might come across him?

At this point even the night could be a deadly enemy.

Bite me. A girl who screamed like a banshee.

I won't go down that easily. A boy who fought for someone else.

You should have gone for something more vital, fucker. A girl who had more bravado than strength.

Go for my throat. Take off my head. The one person who might understand.

"Too bad you missed my head." He lifts himself to balance on his one knee, the other a blazing fire under his skin but he pushes it aside. This is his last moment and he can't let a little pain stop him from giving it his all. There was no way he could simply lay down and die when every person he had fought had shown him the strength to fight to the end. Maybe that made him selfish, maybe it didn't.

"You won't make that mistake twice."

Even if he died she would learn from this. Distantly he hoped that if she did kill him that he had taught her something, something about herself or something about how this cruel world worked.

It's for a purpose. Excuses, excuses. I don't do this for pleasure.

At least he would die knowing he was better than his step-father. Right?

^{Table by Griffin}
[Attacks Penelope with Sling Blade]
giLEZvDRuGglaive
Severed Left Calf at Knee -- 9.0 damage

glaive

[eulalie blake 1a 🍒 tris]

The crack of his bone echoes through me, like a gunshot — and it takes every ounce of my strength to stay standing. There's a bullet in my wound, tearing through me and never leaving. My legs are shaking when I finally look down, watching as the boy from Three crawls away from me. I nearly collapse.

I tell myself not to be ashamed.

This is what it means to be a monster. This is what it means to see fear in a stranger's eyes. And he's looking straight at me. I give him time to gather his bearings — out of selfishness, not kindness. I need to put myself back together again, but I am missing all of the pieces. I don't know where to start.

So I listen as he speaks, focusing all of my energy into staying on my feet. I refuse to meet the ground again. To face the earth and all of its terrors. "Too bad you missed my head." There's a pause, silence until a trigger clicks into place. "You won't make that mistake twice."

But I am not in control, not now — not as he taps into his reserves, charging forward and swinging his sword low. I try to throw myself backwards, to dodge the blow, but it is a decision that I come to regret. He cuts through bone and flesh like it is nothing, until I'm on the snow and I can't get back up.

I scream for what feels like hours, blacking out for a span of seconds — fire across my skin, voice ringing in my ears, vision blurred. Death finds me and presses his heel to my throat, holds me there until I feel like I have begun to melt through the ice under me. I think it wants to swallow me.

I'm sobbing as I roll to my side, weapons dragging awkwardly behind me and body shivering from the cold. I can't pull myself up from this point, to meet his gaze like I am someone worth his fear. I'm left staring up at him, lifting my torso from the ground and feeling the snow sting the bloody stump of my leg. I can't go any further.

This is where it has to end.

"Bleed out."

That's all I can think to say, all that my voice will allow — one last vicious, hypocritical thing. I wanted his head, but now all I want is to watch him die. I'm not ready to go, I don't want this to be the last thing that I ever see. My limbs lying on the snow, a red halo around me. But I can't move, and I can't beg for mercy.

All I want is to survive,

but I don't know how.

I hold out my right bladed arm and bring my axe against the handle, splintering the wood until it is on the verge of breaking off. I can't think of what to say, what to do, but I have to make it over this mountain to figure out where to go. So I drag myself along the rocks, and I tell myself it will be over soon.

And it will be. Somehow.

I scream as I roll my shoulder, twisting in the air and slamming myself against the ground — but the log splitter breaks free, a tactic that I have used once before. I do not aim for his heart, or his head. I leave it up to fate. I leave it up to the thing that I am so terrified of.

Because I am cold,

and I am afraid —

and I am not ready to go.

( penelope attacks curtus ; spiked blunt )
oQsbdMlF5Bspiked blunt
( DEEP GASH ON RIGHT FOREARM -- 8.0 damage | +1 strength )

spiked blunt