Scythe || Bellamy Blake

A Shredded Canvas

"What?" Bellamy breathed, face whitening.

Scythe scrunched her face up in shame, "He took her. I tried to stop him, but he was so strong."

Useless. She was useless.

Bellamy's face was terrified, he didn't bother hiding it. His warm hand rested on her shoulder, "Do you know which way he went?"

"A ravine. Octavia fell down it and she hit her head, I- I would recognize it if I saw it."

Bellamy swore, "I haven't seen a ravine."

Scythe shook her head, "I'll take you there."

Bellamy called Clarke over and Scythe furrowed her brows in confusion, "What are you doing- Bellamy we have to go find your sister!"

He nodded, barely concealed panic in his eyes, "I know, but you won't do us any good if you die on the way to her."

Logical- but Scythe just wanted to go and save her friend.

Clarke came over and Bellamy nodded to her, "She's hurt."

Scythe couldn't believe they were going to waste time on her, but she figured the faster they got this over with, the faster she could find Octavia. Clarke ushered her over to the drop ship, Bellamy in tow.

The blonde attempted to lift up her shirt to check her ribs, but Scythe stopped her, forgetting for a minute. She couldn't let Clarke see. Couldn't let anyone see.

She drowned in her shame.

Clarke sighed in frustration, "I have to look at your ribs."

For Octavia. This was for Octavia.

She would give away every part of herself to save Octavia.

Clarke pulled up her jacket and shirt just high enough to reveal her ribs and gasped slightly. Scythe flinched.

Bellamy took a step forwards, eyes snapping to Clarke, "What?"

Her blue eyes met with Scythe's black ones and she silently pleaded for Clarke not to say anything. She seemed to understand and effortlessly covered up her outburst, "That looks painful. Give us a minute Bellamy."

Clarke's tone was convincing but the eldest Blake sibling narrowed his eyes and she saw the look on his face he got whenever he tried to figure something out. Nevertheless, he reluctantly stepped out of the makeshift nurse's office.

Clarke whirled around to face Scythe, "Scythe, what the hell is this?"

Scythe felt Clarke's cold hands on her back and she stiffened, saying evenly, "A reminder."

Her back was a shredded canvas.

Scars sprawled across her skin, letters beginning from one side and scrawling onward until she was forced to yield her entire back to their merciless message.

They spelled 'SCYTHE'.

The font spoke of pain and suffering, and the pale lines, a life left behind. She could feel Clarke's horror rolling off of her in waves. As she realized that there was no way Scythe could have done this to herself. She watched Clarke's eyes drift down to the thick scars strangling her wrists. She watched the gears click in her brain.

She watched Clarke realize that Scythe was not her name.

"Who did this to you?"

Scythe covered her emotion with a mask of indifference, but inside she was seething.

She hated the look of pity on Clarke's face. As if she didn't choose this. Clarke didn't know her story and Scythe was the last person in it that deserved pity.