the blood in our future

Vertigo

A/N: I'd like you to know that I don't actually actively hate you. Anyways have fun!

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Despite the storm's violence, despite rain and wind trying their best to throw her this way and that, Lucy moved fast. Faster than the gusts punching into her from all sides. Faster than the missing air in her lungs could have stopped her.

Her entire body hurt as she ran.

It wasn't made for this anymore. Wasn't made to run this fast for this long. Wasn't made to last.

But Lucy didn't care. She didn't care that every muscle of hers ached. That her breathing hurt more and more with every step she took. That her head felt dizzier, hotter, than ever before.

All that mattered was Mary.

She had to get to her. She had to get her to safety. After that — she didn't much care what happened to her after that. But she had to get to her, first.

She was drenched to the bone, by the time she reached Bedford Row. The storm was raging with so much fury that she could barely see through the night and rain, could barely hear over the thunder and the roar of wind.

It had taken all her senses. Had left her with only the feeling of being out at sea, helpless against the waves towering higher and higher above her.

She had to force her eyes open to search for any signs of her sister. To search for any shadows moving too fast.

Mary had to be here. She had to. If she weren't, Lucy would have no idea where to look for her. She'd have no idea whether she'd been caught already.

Lucy's stomach sunk as she considered it: That she might be too late. Too late, again, arriving inside the mill just to find everyone dying already. Panic was a knife to her stomach, and it was twisting viciously.

"Mary!" she shouted, not knowing what else to do, fighting against the storm swallowing her voice like it was nothing. "Where are you?!"

Lucy had told her to stay, and she knew that Mary would have listened. So if she wasn't here—

Headlights appeared at the end of the street, but before they could ever reach her, a hand covered Lucy's mouth from behind. Instinctively, she reached for her rapier — but her fingers strayed from it the moment she recognised the body holding hers.

"Stop screaming like that!" Mary whined into her ear, pulling her towards a small alleyway, a small stairwell leading to a basement entrance. "You're going to draw attention!"

Lucy had her sister trapped in a tight hug as soon as the latter's hold allowed for it. "You're okay," she whispered into her hair, half laughing, half crying, "you're alive."

"For better or worse," Mary grunted whilst hugging her back even tighter. "They're not the gentlest souls I've ever met."

"How bad did they get you?"

"Just a nick."

But Lucy heard the lie. She held Mary back by her shoulders, eyes raking over her, as hurried to scan for any injuries as she was afraid to find them. There was a bloody spot on her temple that some of her hair was sticking to — but as painful as it looked, it also looked small. Non-lethal.

Then, however, Lucy's gaze reached her legs. And her heart may as well have stopped.

Everything was full of blood. Mary's entire right leg seemed one giant gash, all too long, all too deep. The puddle of rain to her feet had turned crimson already.