a hopeless romantic | r.s

Chapter Three

Lane dreamt of the Refuge. She dreamt that she was being held back by Synder as her brothers kicked and kicked Finch, drawing a painful cry out of him every time. She dreamt that she cried out until her throat went raw, begging for them to let him go. That she would do anything.

Well, that was mostly how it went.

The Refuge floor was cold and merciless beneath her stinging hands. She whimpered as Snyder advanced, trying to scramble away, trying to ignore her injured ankle that was screaming out in pain.

She just couldn't stop trying.

Snyder grabbed her by the arm, hauling her up to her feet. He roughly shoved her against the too cold wall, rocks digging into her back like spikes. She sneered and snarled at the man, but he still did not let her go.

"You don't think this is what you deserve?" Snyder spat. "You selfish witch, you'd rather have someone else experience this instead?"

Lane's eyes widened, but the scene had already shifted, and soon she was staring into the empty and lifeless eyes of Alex.

No.

Not this again.

But it wasn't- not exactly. Frisks was standing behind him, and even further, Albert. Who's busted lip was sending a stream of blood down his chin.

"Take a look, Lane," Snyder said, gesturing to Frisks who dragged a finger down Alex's nose, leaving a trail of red behind. Lane struggled in her captor's grip, trying to get to the young boy.

But it was futile, and it didn't seem like Albert was about to move from his place on the ground anytime soon, even though his very much alive gaze was trained on his younger brother, horrified.

Lane didn't understand why he wasn't moving.

Maybe he just couldn't.

Meanwhile, Frisks didn't stop whatever it was she was doing. She traced the top of Alex's eyebrows, the edge of his jaw, the tip of his ear- leaving a bright red line the colour of his hair behind every time. She drew a pronounced frown over his still lips, and a line that oddly resembled a tear drop from the corner of his eye and down his cheek all the way to the too pale flesh of his chin. Lastly, she dragged a wicked finger across the boy's throat, and Lane thought she may never forget the sight of the dark red substance making its way down his collar bone, until Frisks smiled a wicked smile and drew an X on his forehead.

He's already dead, Lane attempted to reason with herself. There's nothing you can do.

But that hardly made anything better.

"Why aren't you helping?" Snyder inquired as she struggled and writhed in his grasp. Snyder only gripped her tighter, causing her to scream out in frustration.

All she saw was red.

When she had somewhat calmed, reduced to nothing but a pathetic, whimpering girl, a new pair came into focus and she gasped. Her family- half of them, at least, tightened around a fumbling Finch.

"No," Lane breathed, trembling. "No! Leave him alone! Leave him-"

"Shut it," Snyder hissed, clasping an icy hand over her mouth, pushing her even harder into the wall. Her whole body throbbed at the force, and she yelped when she caught sight of his whip, swinging down to strike her flesh, fast.

It did, and she watched in horror as the whip transformed in front of her eyes. Now, a snake was slithering up, up, up her arm, stopping only when it reached her throat, strangling her.