[color=bc8dbf][b]Stormy[/b][/color]

It was as though Stormy was trapped inside the head of another person, shrunk down and forced to watch the events transpire through the two shimmering windows that were eyes. Everything felt uncomfortably numb. She didn’t dare look behind her, towards her subconscious, the dark recess of her mind, where the memory of what had happened was rebuilding itself, begging to be confronted. With abject, muted horror, she watched only ahead, at passing reality, realising how grave the situation was, but unable to force the body to act – no words or movement came when she willed it. She just looked at Zino, and the Brazen boy, with wide, glassy eyes. Their words were harsh and hurt.

The full extent of her injuries had escaped her notice, but as her brain raced to catch up with her heart, it sent far-off tingles down her spine and pulled a hole deep under her stomach. 

Unable to move, the pain pulling only a singular whimper as her arm was reattached. She watched it stitch and thread together, like some grotesque loom – she was not sure she would have turned away if she could – it was morbidly fascinating, and equal parts awesome as it was terrifying. She knew it should hurt, but it was as though the pain were inflicted upon another person. All she felt was the twinge of empathy.

Turning slowly, she looked from her arm to Zino. She could see his lips moving, but the words were garbled and deafening. 

After a pause, she heard her voice ask, [color=bc8dbf]“What?”[/color] She felt her lips quiver. The image of Zino became blurred. 

Warm water trickled down her cheeks; silently she cried. 

Shivers still plagued her body – it wasn’t just that she felt cold; there was something more than that. She drew away from Zino, pulling both arms in close. One arm was now sleeveless, blood smeared and drying all along it. She lay on her back, and focussed on her breathing. In through the nose, out through the mouth. In. Out. In. Out. 

The grass and ground were springy, the air had a steel edge to it, the smell of iron filled her nostrils, and her mouth tasted of copper. Stormy focussed on these things: reals things. 

Still, she cried.