Overwhelmed [3] 《SHADOWHUNTERS》

Chapter Seven

A runed hand scrawled across a fresh journal, lit by the sunlight that cut through the dark. The pen moved furiously, stamping down rushed dark letters as it went. All that could be heard was the frantic scratching of metal on parchment.

Andina's eyes bore into the words that she couldn't quite make out. And still, they poured onto empty lines. She blinked, and more were there. It was impossible to keep up.

Her fingers were sore, writing callus rubbed raw and throbbing. The journal felt thicker than it had been. The edge dug into her wrist. Had she turned the page? Her spine ached as she arched desperately over her work. She couldn't for the life of her bring herself to straighten. There were pounds upon her shoulders that would not let them rise.

The tip scraped. A knife cut through the page. The next one became clear through the tears, already blackened by her illegible script. Yet her stiff wrist found the top of the page. The ink twisted overtop of what she'd already shed and collapsed into a static abyss. Her stomach felt just as hectic, a tightened spring lodged under her ribcage. If she let out to much air, she would burst into pieces.

Her breath raced. The edge of her hand had grown black and raw as it dragged across each page. Poisons seeped into her veins, ripping out of her right arm and eliciting a staggered grunt from her teeth. Her fingers shook, desperate to curl into the growing book in front of her. Her eyes fluttered, working to decipher what she had written and not focus on how she felt – like a beast was trying to claw up her throat.

The ink turned brown upon opening her eyes. She staggered in her writing, a shaking line of crimson spilled from the pen's tip. Her heart stilled. 

But she was unable to halt her motions. Well into hyperventilating, she tore her eyes from the page and her face paled, aghast.

Her right forearm was torn open from wrist to elbow. The muscle was mangled, only protected by the rushing river of crimson that tilted her stomach and pulled the color from her lips. The white of her bone was visible and it felt like it; the wound burned worse than any gash she had ever suffered. A terrified cry left her this time, high and short. She felt as though she should be out cold on the floor, but her left arm still worked across the page with her own blood.

Her eyes shot open with a stifled sniffle, gasping desperately for air as she found herself free to move. Her wrist screamed in pain and she curled her left hand around it, uncertain of how relieved she should be to find her skin closed and the fading trace of a soundless rune still intact. The room was dark, the blues of night calming her as she shakily examined her surroundings. The bed across from the one she slept in was familiar, as was the girl slumped into the blankets and nearly falling off of the mattress. Isabelle's bedroom in their old house. She was safe.

She let out a breath and shoved her blankets off, hoping to relieve her clammy skin. It just served to chill her and bring the shiver to her spine. She kicked her legs out of bed and her heart skipped once more when she caught sight of a shadow hovering over Izzy. Her fists clenched until a gentle voice whispered, "Are you okay?"

It was Clary. She could make out the messy frizz of bed head now. Andy brushed her off bluntly, moving to leave. The young woman stopped her again, rephrasing before the other could reach the doorway. "Is everything all right?"

"It's fine, Clary," Andy shut her down, quiet and firm, sparing a worried glance to Isabelle's sleeping form that the redhead definitely took note of. Once Andy was certain her sister remained unstirred, she slipped out of their room.

The redhead was left in the dark, staring after the strange woman as the door latched softly. A sigh escaped her before she accepted the pull of sleep on her eyelids, burying herself under the small bit of blanket that Iz had yet to steal.