Emelia Atchins
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- 45
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Exhausted and empty. That was what she would have said if she could have spoken. As it was, she shrugged wearily, wild eyes darting between the door holding back a tide of death and the way out behind them. She did shake her head at the bag; the idea of eating anything right now was wholly unappealing. She couldn't make her hands stop burning where blood had poured over them.
She could drown out the horror in that bastard's eyes as he sawed his own guts open. And couldn't come to grips with the glee that had lit in her, nor the emptiness after.
She saw his eyes dart to the desk. Frail in comparison to a warrior she might be, but she had worked her entire life. It was not all waiting tables and turning down beds, as anyone who worked in a family business of any nature could tell.
She moved to the desk and looked to Decanian. She could help; in the same way he couldn't move it alone, neither could she. Together they could, and in so doing buy themselves some time to get out of the underworld.
She wasn't sure what she would do after, but she knew she didn't want to be down here any longer.
She could drown out the horror in that bastard's eyes as he sawed his own guts open. And couldn't come to grips with the glee that had lit in her, nor the emptiness after.
She saw his eyes dart to the desk. Frail in comparison to a warrior she might be, but she had worked her entire life. It was not all waiting tables and turning down beds, as anyone who worked in a family business of any nature could tell.
She moved to the desk and looked to Decanian. She could help; in the same way he couldn't move it alone, neither could she. Together they could, and in so doing buy themselves some time to get out of the underworld.
She wasn't sure what she would do after, but she knew she didn't want to be down here any longer.