Heart Of Zaun (Arcane x reader)

The Base Violence Necessary for Change II

Short chapter
Warning: mentions of blood & death, slight suicidal initiatives?
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Qui·et
/ˈkwīət/
Noun
Absence of noise or bustle; silence; calm.
"the ringing of the telephone shattered the early morning quiet"

She sat up, as the bed shook below her. The springs creaked.

The familiar room creaked around her, as her arm found her shoulder.

Her knees raised below the knitted-top sheet.

It was quiet.

Too quiet.

Maybe Vander just let her sleep in.

Her hand moved around the bed, trying to find the warmth on Vander's bedside, only for her breath to catch.

It was cold.

She shifted her legs off of the side of the bed, stumbling as she let out a few breathless pants.

Maybe she imagined it all.

Maybe it was a stress nightmare.

A wave of pain shot up through her waist, as she held the room's wall for support.

Her kids, Benzo, Silco, Vander.

She found herself standing in front of the mirror, staring back at her dimly lit-body.

Bags rested under her eyes, her bodies usual bloating wasn't there.

She didn't know when the last time she ate was, or how long she'd even been out for.

Scratches lined her arm & thigh.

She found unfamiliar bandages across the old wounds on her face.

Her blood ran cold, as her hand shakily found the hem of her shirt.

She lifted it slightly, her other hand pulling down the waistband of her pants.

She let in a gasp, finding a thick, bled through patch lying across her hip.

Her hand grazed the material.

She didn't patch that?

Her eyes shot open, it felt like she was struggling to breathe. Something was pushing down on her chest.

She slid her shoes on, grabbing her key's from the dish.

There was a burnt out cigar by her room's door, as she flew through the hall, shoving the dens door open.

Nothing.

No voices, no warm bodies to greet her.

No kind "hello"s.

She was panicking, by now.

—

"Silco!"

—

"Shit," she hissed, her heart rested in her stomach.

Maybe they were at Benzo's. Maybe it was all a dream.

She ran up the flight of unsteady stairs, stumbling across herself. Her hip was killing her, so was her head.

She stared at the cellar door, it had been completely broken open.

A few stray breaths slipped past her, as her hand traced up the wood.