MARBLE & SALT (Lesbian)

Chapter 11 (Part 1) WOES AND VOWS

NB: the chapter features mature content!

Holding her under the armpits, I drag Hebe across the floor as far away from the broken mirror as possible. "Seven years of misfortunes" Hebe's words are beating in my head. Just a few hours ago, she was so cocky and strong, and now she is inert and unconscious. Like a red, eerie ribbon, the trail of her blood is drawn from the wardrobe. She can't die. She can't, can't die.

Hebe's clothes are dark with her blood: from fear, being on the verge of hysteria, I cannot understand where the blood is coming from. Where? Where? Shoulder!

I press my hand trying to stop the bleeding, but nothing works! I grab the edge of the frost-white blanket and pull it towards me with barely bending fingers. I squeeze the blanket to her shoulder, and it instantly fills with blood like the belly of a mosquito. Scare makes me sick: I don't have a mobile phone, and I have no idea if there is any phone in the house. I look around with horror, trying to understand what can help me, and I don't see anything suitable; I don't even know where the first aid kit is... Boy! I can try to find the boy or just ask someone outside to help me, but while I do it, she might bleed to death!

"Hebe... you can't die! I beg you... you can't," I implore her swaying from side to side perfectly recreating the pose of shocked Ivan the Terrible in Repin's painting *. The witch, as if hearing me, moans and opens her eyes. "Hebe! What should I do? I'll do anything, just tell me! Just stay with me, don't close your eyes again!" I sob, supporting her head. What terrifies me most is not actually the blood, but the fact that she's insanely hot! I am so used to her pleasant, slightly cool skin, but now she seems to be burning like a torch. In response to my words, the girl smirks languidly; a few mocking wrinkles gather at the corners of her slightly oriental, slanting eyes. It calms me down a bit.

"Polished box under the bed. Red bottle. Keep on breathing, girl!" She smiled again, but a second later her body softens in my arms.

"H-Hebe?" I whisper, but the witch doesn't answer again. She is very hot – this is bad, but her temperature indicates that she is still alive. I'm terrified: I don't want to let go of her from my embrace, but I don't hesitate and crawl under the bed. I find the box right away. I can't open it at once, but then I accidentally press my finger on a small bird figure carved in wood, and the box opens with a loud pop. I begin to rummage through the contents, my heart is beating loudly: a green bottle, a black bottle, an alcoholized embryo in a tightly closed jar (I wish it were not a human embryo! How disgusting!); where is... the red bottle!

I dash to Hebe, understanding that I don't know what to do with the liquid: shall I pour it into her mouth or shall I pour it on her wound? Let's start with the wound: this is the safest way! I carefully pour out the contents of the bottle; one drop is enough to make Hebe scream loudly, immediately waking her up. The blood on her shoulder began to boil and turn black. I pull her closer to me, unable to look at her pain.

"Hang on, please!" I beg her with tears in my voice, although, I don't even know if her pain will go. My lips touch her wet forehead, and I understand that she is no longer so hot, and her breath has no stridor. Overpowering my fear, I force myself to look at the eerie black foam that is covering her wound. It's still boiling, but not so actively. Hebe starts to stir a little; her gaze becomes more focused, and the "snakes" on her skin, which were quite dull, began to appear and slowly curl, moving along her tanned skin. "Are you a little better?" I gently brush a strand of her hair off her damp but no longer hot forehead.

She nods weakly. We sit huddled together for what seems like an eternity. I can't believe that everything worked out, but I can't relax either: are all the portals to this house protected? Could her pursuer get to us again? Witch's iron tesak is missing: so, there's no weapon to protect our lives, "It was the same witch with white hair, wasn't she?!" I start to sob, "You were hurt because of me! If I had gone with her, she would not have hurt you, she would not have taken revenge for the molten arm!" My arms grip the witch even tighter.