Punishment

Distress.

((LET ME WARN YOU RIGHT NOW THIS IS A LITTLE GRUESOME))

You find her. The one you and many others were searching for. You stare at her, realising that the incident had taken it's toll on another.

Her body was in a mess, her clothes, torn to shreds as they loosely hung off her body which was covered in bandages that showed the multiple of bruises which were a multitude of blacks and greys, blues and purples. Colors that should never be on someone's skin. Some even showed signs of infection. There were scars as well, lines drawn down to her back and arms, some already clotting, some being reopened by accident or clawed into on purpose. Her finger nails had traced of scabs and dried blood, telling you exactly what she had done with them.

Her wings, tightly tucked as far as it could go into her back, almost as if she were afraid they existed. They even had broken feathers sticking out in all different angles clearly stating that they had not been preened for weeks. 

She was on the floor, clutching something. Your heart jumps as you see what's she's clutching onto; an magic orb, which belonged to only one person you knew. The orb was cracked, showing a great power surge had escaped from it, leaving it dull and lifeless. Though, every time you see her nuzzle the orb, it hummed ever so slightly.

You begin to contemplate on whether you should talk to Picasso or let her mourn. Your thoughts and emotions suddenly dissipate as your decision you made begins to take action. Your mouth opens and you let your larynx make a sound, to notify her of your presence. 

There was absolutely no going back after this.

"P-Picasso," You mutter.

Her body stiffens as she turns to face you. It looks like she hasn't opened her eyes in a long time as she begins to take in her surroundings. Your eyes widen. Her eyes are bloodshot and puffy. Dried tear stains streak down to her mouth and chin, mixed with the snot and spittle. Blood covered her entire head and her hair, though tightly wrapped in a bun, was extremely messy and stringy. 

She sees you. Her entire face hardens, she separates her lips so you could see her teeth grit each other in fury. Her eyes narrow as she takes in your existence. 

"How dare you come see me," She croaks, almost as if she forgot how to use her voice.

You walk forward, extending a hand but your greeting had no  meaning as she slashes at you.

"GET. OUT." She snarls, trying to sound as intimidating as possible but coming off pitiful. Her voice cracks more than it use to before.

You take a step back as she turns back to clutch the ball once more.

You've changed your mind, you don't want to do this anymore but you're responsible for everything that occurred after your intrusion that disastrous night. You step forward again and try once more.

"Picasso, please." You say softly. "We need to talk."

No response. You sigh, deciding to take a more, assertive approach but still being as gentle as possible.

"Picasso, you can't do this! People are worried sick about you! You can't shut yourself off again! Picasso please, people are looking for you."

You stare in amazement as you see her stand upwards to face you. Her once proud and brave stance, was now a sleep deprived and stressed one. She laughs, startling you.

"You really want to talk about what I can and cannot do?" She asked, though it sounded more like a statement than an answer. Her rose pink eyes bore unblinkingly into yours.

"Neither you nor anyone else has the self-proclaimed RIGHT, to tell me what I can or can't do!!! I've spent an entire FIFTEEN years to at least try and help others, and what do I get in return?!" She pauses, waiting for an answer.