Outfit: Robes
Equipment: Lightsaber,
Bracelet,
Earrings, Engagement Ring
Companion: Isari
Tag:
Corazona von Ascania
The air smelled of smoke, blood and antiseptic. Eve moved quietly through the hospital camp, her steps steady, but her heart anything but. Just a few steps ahead, Isari trotted, glancing and sniffing curiously as they moved. There were tents all around her, billowing gently in the breeze, their white canvas stained with soot and blood. Children cried in the distance, high, keening sounds that never seemed to stop. A medic’s voice rose in a harsh whisper, pleading for another stim. Somewhere, someone screamed.
She passed them all, jaw tight, eye open.
A body was being covered with a cloth. The small, stiff limbs beneath it made her stop, for just a second. Her breath hitched. Too small. Too still. She blinked hard and moved on.
Nearby, a girl no older than ten sat alone with bandaged arms, gazing into nothing. One of her braids had come undone. Eve crouched, gently tied it back, and said nothing. The girl didn’t react, but didn’t flinch either.
It was all wrong. All of it.
She reached the edge of the tents and exhaled slowly through her nose, grounding herself. She could feel her own pain curling in the corners of her ribs like cold, coiled vines, but it was the rage that simmered hottest now.
Serina.
Eve's jaw clenched. Just the name sent a tremor through her spine. The image of the great beast in the sky — flames descending like the wrath of some cruel god, no care for the lives beneath — seared itself behind her vision. She could still see the twisted bodies, still smell the burning. And all because she seemingly wanted to make a statement. To show power. To apparently play at war. As if tormenting Reina, and whatever else she did out there, wasn't enough to satiate her perverted needs.
"I’ll kill her," Eve whispered under her breath, the words escaping like smoke before she even realised she'd said them.
She stopped in her tracks, eye wide. Then shut it.
No. That wasn’t the way. Not hers. She pressed a hand to her chest and breathed in. Counted to four. Held. Counted out.
When her eye opened again, it glimmered, but her face was composed.
A passing nurse, haggard and pale, pointed her toward a particular tent when asked. She nodded in thanks, then approached, basket still lightly swinging from one hand. The other was clenched just a little too tight.
As she drew closer, the air seemed to hush. The sky overhead was soft and blue-grey now, like silk stretched thin. Crows perched on the poles of the hospital tents, black silhouettes watching, waiting. The flap to the tent stirred.
Eve stepped inside.
And there she was.
Cora stood over a cot, her hands glowing faintly, hovering above a comatose boy. Golden hair shimmered in the low light. Heavy shadows clung beneath her eyes, but her face held the same quiet strength it always had, worn now, hollowed by grief, but still burning like a candle in a storm.
Eve froze, lips parting slightly.
She didn’t speak. She didn’t move. She just watched her.
The sight was enough to make her throat ache. She'd come to offer support, to check on her, but all at once, Eve felt like a child again, helpless before something so much bigger than herself. Cora’s presence filled the space like gravity.
She blinked quickly and looked away, brushing the edge of her sleeve across her eye. Still silent, she set the basket down gently near the flap: some dried fruit, healing salves, and tea. She stayed where she was, arms loosely crossed, as if she could hold herself together that way. Isari sat up in perfect stillness, sensing the weight of the moment through her bond with Eve.
There would be time to speak. But not yet. For now, she let Cora work.