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[img]http://i.imgur.com/EmCrJhQ.png[/img][img]https://i.imgur.com/3R5vYYi.png?2[/img][hr][color=silver]𝕊𝕦𝕟: 𝕊𝕖𝕡𝕥. 𝟚𝟘, 𝟚𝟘𝟚𝟘   / /   𝕎𝕒𝕤𝕙𝕚𝕟𝕘𝕥𝕠𝕟, 𝔻.ℂ.   / /   ℝ𝕠𝕪𝕒𝕝 ℙ𝕖𝕟𝕥𝕙𝕠𝕦𝕤𝕖 𝕊𝕦𝕚𝕥𝕖   / /  ~𝟙𝟚𝟘𝟘[/color][hr][/center]
Peaceful days passed like the eye of a storm, and little did Sander know, he was far too unprepared to weather its devastating force. 

First was the burning grip on their marks. Then something exploded. Collapsed. Shattered. Sander didn’t know. Couldn’t check, because guards were already herding them into the living room and issuing orders. 

Then everything went to hell. Sander didn’t notice much else as the floor shook, hurling him onto shattered glass and jagged metal. Pain spread across his body, both from the impact and the bite of sharp debris. It left him breathless, and it took a couple of minutes for him to finally recover. He climbed to his feet as soon as he did, the process took far longer than it should have because of the shards of glass that littered the ground. 

Droplets of red entered his vision. His. He knew by scent. But he turned his head to the left, and there was more red. Tempting. Too much, and not his. Then another scent hit him. Familiar. Too familiar. And too much as well. 

[i]Christmas.[/i]

His chest constricted, his lungs were starving air even when his breaths grew rapid. 

Quick steps took him closer to the source, but all he found was a broken off balcony. He peered over the edge. 

All he saw was blood. There was too much of it, pooling beneath the broken body. He could still see the ribbon. How it was all soaked in red. 

With neither hesitation nor thought, Sander took a leap off the balcony. Wind rushed pass him as he fell, and he landed hard. More pain in his legs as they collapsed beneath him, sending his face toward the ground. Instinctively, he braced himself on both of his arms, only for something to snap in his left wrist. 

He fell sideway, breathless and dazed from the pain. His mind remained lucid though, enough to know that jumping off a balcony was a terrible idea. But he couldn’t really care, because Christmas was right there, bleeding out and [i]dying[/i]. 

He couldn’t let that happen. He couldn’t, yet at the same time, he didn’t know what to do, besides what he had always done: charging in. Without the bloodhigh, Sander was painfully aware of his own mortality. But that didn’t stop him from jumping. Didn’t stop him from pushing himself up on his good hand and knees, ignoring the protest of his injuries as he dragged himself to Christmas’ side.