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attitudeShe sees flashes of her old life in the new walls around her now. The flicker of ash, the hint of a spark — she can smell what accompanies it, smoke, billowing and dark and sudden, the crash of glass in the background, screams buried under the rest. There's a trickle of blood down her jawline, once sickly warm and now dried, cracking with the slightest movement, but Faye pays it no mind as she searches for a better place to hide — the shadows are too dangerous, the rooftops too restricting, and it feels ridiculous for her to be sitting on top of a stone statue in the park, and yet.
The frantic words of passerby have been enough to warn her of what's to come. Fears, manifesting and contorting, fears personified, all geared towards following their targets until they run out of breath. Some impossible thread of optimism twists itself in her stomach, but Faye doesn't keep her hopes raised too high as she stares about her, wondering if there's an end.
She wonders for a second too long.
There's a scatter of gravel in the distance, immediately setting her on edge as her eyes fly open, gun tugged from her hip with a rattle as she points it in the direction of the noise.
"Figures," she mutters to herself when recognition dawns, hesitantly starting to lower the weapon.
The frantic words of passerby have been enough to warn her of what's to come. Fears, manifesting and contorting, fears personified, all geared towards following their targets until they run out of breath. Some impossible thread of optimism twists itself in her stomach, but Faye doesn't keep her hopes raised too high as she stares about her, wondering if there's an end.
She wonders for a second too long.
There's a scatter of gravel in the distance, immediately setting her on edge as her eyes fly open, gun tugged from her hip with a rattle as she points it in the direction of the noise.
"Figures," she mutters to herself when recognition dawns, hesitantly starting to lower the weapon.