-Untitled-
By: Sachi Desu
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"Ugh..." Lacie slowly raises herself into a sitting position, leaning against a large rock and rubbing at the dark circles dancing before her eyes. As she blinks in the bright sun, she is acutely aware of two things.
One, it is daytime. In and of itself, this is not unusual, but the last thing Lacie remembers is the night.
Two, Lucci is missing. The light-haired man is always around--it's part of his job, really. So, Lacie wonders uncomfortably, where is he now?
“Lucci?” she calls, stumbling to her feet. Glancing down, she notices the scratches on her legs and her tattered dress for the first time. She examines her fingernails, and as she expected, there are the all-too-familiar flecks of dried blood.
Memories of last night flood back--how she’d lost it again, how she’d slapped Lucci’s restraining arms away, how she’d--
No. She shudders, ears dropping, as dark red sloshes through her mind. Lacie is not a murderer--she can’t be. She won’t be.
And yet, the blood won’t come off, no matter how hard she rubs.
“Lucci?!” she yells, and she’s on her knees, staring at the blue sky above her, glaring into the sun despite the pain.
“Behind you,” comes a soft voice. Lacie whirls around, her ears slapping against each other, and Lucciis there, adjusting his glasses with his usual, quiet elegance.
“Wh-where were you?”
“Cleaning up after your mess,” he replies without any hint of malice. “You feeling better?”
She nods quietly as he bends and examines her scraped knees. As he stands, he gives her a funny half-smile and ruffles her hair. As his hand slides away, she notices dark spots of blood. Yes, even if she can never scrub away the rusty blood at the edges of her fingertips, he’s as willing as ever to share her burden, to hold her hand.
To love her.
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"Ugh..." Lacie slowly raises herself into a sitting position, leaning against a large rock and rubbing at the dark circles dancing before her eyes. As she blinks in the bright sun, she is acutely aware of two things.
One, it is daytime. In and of itself, this is not unusual, but the last thing Lacie remembers is the night.
Two, Lucci is missing. The light-haired man is always around--it's part of his job, really. So, Lacie wonders uncomfortably, where is he now?
“Lucci?” she calls, stumbling to her feet. Glancing down, she notices the scratches on her legs and her tattered dress for the first time. She examines her fingernails, and as she expected, there are the all-too-familiar flecks of dried blood.
Memories of last night flood back--how she’d lost it again, how she’d slapped Lucci’s restraining arms away, how she’d--
No. She shudders, ears dropping, as dark red sloshes through her mind. Lacie is not a murderer--she can’t be. She won’t be.
And yet, the blood won’t come off, no matter how hard she rubs.
“Lucci?!” she yells, and she’s on her knees, staring at the blue sky above her, glaring into the sun despite the pain.
“Behind you,” comes a soft voice. Lacie whirls around, her ears slapping against each other, and Lucciis there, adjusting his glasses with his usual, quiet elegance.
“Wh-where were you?”
“Cleaning up after your mess,” he replies without any hint of malice. “You feeling better?”
She nods quietly as he bends and examines her scraped knees. As he stands, he gives her a funny half-smile and ruffles her hair. As his hand slides away, she notices dark spots of blood. Yes, even if she can never scrub away the rusty blood at the edges of her fingertips, he’s as willing as ever to share her burden, to hold her hand.
To love her.