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·° 。: ✰ : ·° 。
EVERYTHING WAS WHITE. Well, almost everything. Although the darkness of the evening covered a majority of the sinister passageway, the walls were the same shade of creme as the tiled floor, both abnormally clean. The hallways were lined with identical hardwood doors, bleak and brown. The smell of antiseptic permeated the air, though he didn't so much as flinch at the sharp scentㅡhe was too focused on the figure at the end of the hallway.
His sneakers squeaked noisily against the tiles, echoing through the long corridor, as his pace sped up. Like so many times before, moonlight illuminated her small frame, her back facing him. Under normal circumstances, she was already beautifulㅡtoo beautiful. With skin as white as snow, curly locks of chestnut, and features so sharp and symmetrical, this woman could've made Aphrodite run for her money. But with moonlight kissing her skin...she was overwhelming to look at.
A light blue hospital gown hung loosely off her shoulders, drawing more attention to her worrisome weight. This brunette...this kind, and sweet woman was...troubled.
He was a few feet away when the scent of bloodㅡher bloodㅡhit his nostrils, the distinctive smell of it not unfamiliar to him. A trail of the crimson liquid, drops and smears, looked ominous against the stark white floor. It led to a very small puddle of red, right below her fingertips, which bore streaks in the same shade.
Her golden eyes were blank as she gazed at the open window, the source of that heavenly light that made her skin glow. Though it held beauty, her face looked gaunt and utterly exhausted. She looked exhausted.
His fingers were warm against her cold arm, thin and fragile in his gentle grasp. "Rosalie?" he frowned, turning her to face him.
She blinked.
"Tyler?" the Monet narrowed her eyes, voice dripping with confusion. She looked around, gaze tired and weary. "What are we doing here?"
"C'mon," he muttered, guiding the fatigued brunette through the eerie hallways. His hands were so gentle, so warm, and comforting against her freezing body that Rosalie didn't protest or question the teen. Why he was here? She didn't particularly care, or know why. Anything was better than those nightmares.
After a few twists and turns, the pair entered a door. The sheets on the bed were rumpled, as though someone had thrashed and turned in their sleep. Even the pillows looked close to being stripped of its cases. An IV line was on the floor, the needle wet with blood. The heart monitor, a machine that was supposedly monitoring her heart rate, was turned off. He couldn't imagine how she knew how to operate the apparatus. Hell, he didn't know a lot of things about her in the recent days.
