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Aug. 7th, 2008 09:51 amThere's a hand, and it's small, girlish, and it's dripping blood from the forefinger. The girl is tracing something on the ground - they look like squiggles, encased in a circle that's encased in a square, and it's all made of blood. She knows exactly what each one means, the parameters of power that she assigns each squiggle, each marking. She takes a deep breath.
"Fuilteach, is é pictiúr a athar é, is é a athair ar athphrátaí é."
Her voice is flat and emotionless, and she finishes the trace. She stands, and it begins to glow, but before it does anything, there's a scream from behind her.
"Fóir orm! Aodhan!" The voice is masculine, but young. Like a boy. He's screaming, and she spins around. He's there, her brother, her little brother, the one who she used to coo songs to and sing to when he cried, who always smelled like cinammon and sweet cream, who was smiling and cheerful when she was in pain, who always made her feel better, and his eyes were filled with red.
"Sean, Sean!" She's screaming. "Fan bomaite or nóiméad!"
Why couldn't it be Lorcán, if they were going to take any of them, Lorcán who was the only reason that they were doing this stupid spell? She can't find where the bleed is, panicked, holding her brother and watching as blood comes out of his body like it's possessed, plugging his nose, filling his mouth. She fixes her lips against his, sucking the blood, trying to find an airway, but there isn't anything but blood. She can feel the spell battling against his body, and she can't find a hold where it won't kill her, too.
She's screaming, and crying, and he's shuddering in her arms. There's blood everywhere when he finally stops, and it drains away.
Lorcán steps behind her. "Bhí sé beagnach marbh."
She wants to murder him. He doesn't even care that Sean is dead. But she can't. She can only sit there with her little brother in her arms and take deep, gasping breaths.
[ooc: Translations: "Bloodthirsty, he's a picture of his father." "Help! Eden!" "Sean, Sean!" "Hold on!" "He was nearly dead"]
"Fuilteach, is é pictiúr a athar é, is é a athair ar athphrátaí é."
Her voice is flat and emotionless, and she finishes the trace. She stands, and it begins to glow, but before it does anything, there's a scream from behind her.
"Fóir orm! Aodhan!" The voice is masculine, but young. Like a boy. He's screaming, and she spins around. He's there, her brother, her little brother, the one who she used to coo songs to and sing to when he cried, who always smelled like cinammon and sweet cream, who was smiling and cheerful when she was in pain, who always made her feel better, and his eyes were filled with red.
"Sean, Sean!" She's screaming. "Fan bomaite or nóiméad!"
Why couldn't it be Lorcán, if they were going to take any of them, Lorcán who was the only reason that they were doing this stupid spell? She can't find where the bleed is, panicked, holding her brother and watching as blood comes out of his body like it's possessed, plugging his nose, filling his mouth. She fixes her lips against his, sucking the blood, trying to find an airway, but there isn't anything but blood. She can feel the spell battling against his body, and she can't find a hold where it won't kill her, too.
She's screaming, and crying, and he's shuddering in her arms. There's blood everywhere when he finally stops, and it drains away.
Lorcán steps behind her. "Bhí sé beagnach marbh."
She wants to murder him. He doesn't even care that Sean is dead. But she can't. She can only sit there with her little brother in her arms and take deep, gasping breaths.
[ooc: Translations: "Bloodthirsty, he's a picture of his father." "Help! Eden!" "Sean, Sean!" "Hold on!" "He was nearly dead"]
