Perhaps it wasn't Murielle's finest moment when accidentally mispronouncing a spell had an unconscious Original landing slap-bang in the middle of her home. Though at first this mistake may have seemed horrible, it leads to a whirlwind of a life tha...
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When Rebekah appeared in Murielle's bedroom, a place she was familiar with, it was to a not so familiar sight. The room looked as though it were a horror scene.
Murielle's mirror was smashed, shards scattered about the floor, dancing between small droplets of blood. Random objects were misplaced or strewn across the floor. The window was thrown wide open with the green paint on it's ledge slightly chipped in eight places.
Then there was the woman herself, the one who Rebekah had only spoken enough to to introduce themselves; she was lying on her back beside her nightstand. Her arms appeared to be ripped to shreds. Five identical scratches scored across every inch of her tawny skin. Under her nails were flecks of green, red, and that same tawny tone. Her eyelids were red, with some small abrasions and blood dripping like tears beneath her closed eyes.
A large gash could be seen on her forehead that perfectly matched the great deal of blood present at the corner of the nightstand.
Rebekah almost screamed at the sight. She could've; the only person who would've heard was Murielle and she was out of the equation. What should she do?
"Murielle?" Rebekah asked tentatively. When no movement was made, she cursed herself for her stupidity; of course the unconscious human would not hear her.
With legs that could move this time, she walked over to Murielle's body. Her hands came up to shake the girl awake but they merely passed through her. Rebekah tried again, same result.
Where were her brothers who followed Murielle around like puppies when she needed them? They were incessant and annoying most of the time but the one time the human actually needed some desperate help, she was alone.
Rebekah eyed the bedsheets as a way to stem the bleeding but hope crashed as she remembered her inability to interact with the real world.
A knock to the door was heard by the only conscious person in the room, followed by Elijah's soft voice. "Murielle? Are you alright, my dear?"
No response, at least not one he could hear given that Rebekah was practically screaming at him: "Of course she's not you idiot! Break down the bloody door right now!"
"Murielle?" He received no response again, this time trying the door handle to no avail.
A small twitch of Murielle's fingers indicated her awakening state, as well as the small groan that left her parted lips.
Elijah had heard as well, so he tried again. "Murielle?"
"One second." She slurred out, slowly sitting up. Her bloody hand came to clutch her head when she fully sat up. She must've realised the state of her hands when she went to do that and gasped at the gore.
Murielle rushed to her mirror too quickly for her pain-addled brain to handle. But she found it broken, displaying a monstrous image of herself. Through the fragments, she spied the blood, the wounds, and the red eyes. She choked out a small sob that did nothing to quell Elijah's concern.
