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[indent][indent][color=757670]They had requested that she stay behind -- to discuss things, they said. To clarify the means of a confidentiality agreement; to mutter over the parameters of her involvement; to garner and glean and dissect her testimony -- but, above all -- to strictly prohibit her use of power. She had summoned a fissure within the waking world, rending apart the threshold of reality and threatening not only the sentient creature dubbed Shadow, but her peers as well. Such a void had been banned, a strict ruling that she never tamper with the fragile breadth of the realm, whispers of probation had been fixated to her record, and one of the staff - who, she doesn't know - had even entertained the mention of [i]wards.[/i]

Emma Laurent had clutched black over tarnished silver, charms twinkling, eyes brimming abroad in the wakings of a tumultuous night sky, and she hissed. 

	[color=9b948d]"I - I was only trying to [i]help.[/i]"[/color]

Well, next time, [i]don't[/i].

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She was a ghost, a figment of hazed out ebony that flitted among the common grounds, slinking from blankets of wraith torn shadows that secured to her treads with every step she took. Whispers of sighs tumbled from her throat cinched in her chains, her grasp never having left from the purchase of her most sacred of relics. Her thumb often passed over a carved name and within the pit of her soul, something sour began to fester. She was targeted, singled out, isolated in her involvement because - as one other had stated - she was highly unstable in her control even with her beloved there to tether and siphon the brunt of her unbidden quantity. Still, she had tasted heat and coiling adrenaline, had fed upon the dregs of those fighting righteously, like a glutton her shadow had fixated to the tiling efforts of those championing the cause and they lay, still, inside her thickening silhouette that nearly boiled with an appetance unknown to her heart. It lingered there, a beast of potential that yearned to be unleashed, to feast and to reap upon the fragile barrier of her constitution. Damien could only harness and retract so much, despite being stationed as her carrier and protector of all ill will and her torment, and this leftover potency was rapidly ascending. 

And that [i]woman[/i] --

To have her power robbed from the fringes of her fluctuating control had been startling and far too abrupt, the premature separation had been painful, erupting anguish across the connection of both darkness and flesh. Her palms had been seared, torn from Damien's clutch and curled against her heart where it fluttered madly like a bird trapped within twine. His voice had bled from coherency to an inconsistent drone that had been reminiscent of the vibrating crescendo that had torn across her senses the moment she had sunk her digits into the void, and from there she had wanted nothing more than to sink tooth and nail into the daughter of Hecate. She had taken her prey and the reproachful glance tossed at both she and Damien had made her seethe with an uncharacteristic fury that burned both primal and barbaric. Emma had lain blame upon what little of Shadow she had consumed, the phantasmal encroach of its nature beating upon the fringes of her sanity as she slept that night, unvisited by the spectral manifestation of her mother and her brother's comfort. She hadn't of even texted him that morning, inquiring upon his recovery -- [i]was he okay, had she hurt him in some way?[/i]

The results of their union were often erratic and destructive, invoking anger, guilt, and the unbearable shame from her lack of independence to a state of mind she failed against. If she were indeed a conduit or bay of the many facets of Nyx's children, then she required temperance. Perhaps wards weren't so outlandish...

Unwittingly, she had sought after the most populated area of the commons, her shadow a leaded thread of black that hungrily sought after emotes that lingered upon the precipice of her awareness, dotting them in flavour. Emma inhaled dregs of a banked irritant that simmered red and blue, harmonizing to a wicked purple that boasted sour notes and was braised in a black wash of [i]anger[/i]. It was attractive. It heralded a sweetness, a likeness of fluttering danger that cooed to the coil of hunger slung low in her belly, a sunburst of flame and [i]heat[/i] - Emma opened her eyes, fixated twinkling stars on cerulean - 

Oh - no, okay. [i]No.[/i]

She skittered out of view from their company -- Dallas, Marcella, and upperclassmen she didn't know -- and nearly fumbled against Vivian's table joined into a trio, and at this she wasn't surprised, the Apollo child was a glistening tribute to any ambiance. Emma blinked, brightening streaks of silver upon her cape of lashes, the sky within her graces awash in simmering rocks of burning flame and gases. Had she ever spoken to her before? And the others, she blinked at them both, curling wisps of black in her grasp and breathed around her intrusion and said:

	[color=9b948d]"Uhm. Hi - [i]Sorry.[/i]"[/color] Emma plucked the shadow at her heels clad in scuffed leather and pinched the shimmering eclipse of her profile and hastily retreated to an expansive line at the beverage cart. Damien was much better at this than she, he'd of quipped lazily, drawled out witty banter and introductions as if it were second nature and in the flanks of his rejoinder, she'd smile prettily and try to [i]hide[/i]. She cast one glance more at the epicenter of the compiling sensations encroaching her contour, wisps of periwinkle suggestion lapped upon the edges of her grasp, donned pink in reflection and heavily endowed in manipulative charm. Emma's gaze widened upon the darling undertones and enveloped herself within an embrace of her arms clad in grey and felt the prick of her nails upon the planes of her pale skin. 

[i]Impending violence tastes like sour candy and ash.[/i]

The line moved sluggishly, capped in eager conversation and listing tones of bed-ridden voices that surrounded her mind within a fog that she rapidly inhaled around, desperate to banish the tide of activity that flooded her empathetic core. She'd get them something to drink -- a green tea for herself, a black leaf tea for him, splash of milk, right? -- take it to his room in the dressings of a peaceful offering. If he was even there. But, [i]I'm sorry[/i], would go unspoken and he'd forgive her, [i]for he always would.[/i][/color]
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