People You Can’t Save
Title: People You Can’t Save
Author: fullmetal_cute
Rating: PG
Disclaimer: I own nothing
Characters/Pairings: Emma Frost, Christian Frost
Table/Prompt: Table 1/9. Hero
Word Count: 203
Summary: He’s the one person Emma really wishes she could have saved.
Warnings/Spoilers: None, really.
Author's Notes: Written for luminum
Emma closed the door behind her, taking a deep breath. This place was insanely expensive, even by her standards, but nothing, no amount of money, could rid this place of its antiseptic air overlaying the stench of slow death. It was just a pretty place to die slowly.
“Heeeeey, there’s my hero!”
Emma looked at the wasted figure almost completely lost in the huge bed. The ghost of her handsome, vivacious older brother. The only person she could be completely honest with. She sighed very softly and perched on the edge of the beautiful old chair beside his bed. “I’m not a hero, Christian,” she said, taking his hand. The bones beneath his dry skin felt as brittle as old sticks.
“My hero,” he insisted with a chuckle that sounded like old leaves caught in the wind. He brought her hand up to his lips and gave her fingers a weak squeeze.
Author: fullmetal_cute
Rating: PG
Disclaimer: I own nothing
Characters/Pairings: Emma Frost, Christian Frost
Table/Prompt: Table 1/9. Hero
Word Count: 203
Summary: He’s the one person Emma really wishes she could have saved.
Warnings/Spoilers: None, really.
Author's Notes: Written for luminum
Emma closed the door behind her, taking a deep breath. This place was insanely expensive, even by her standards, but nothing, no amount of money, could rid this place of its antiseptic air overlaying the stench of slow death. It was just a pretty place to die slowly.
“Heeeeey, there’s my hero!”
Emma looked at the wasted figure almost completely lost in the huge bed. The ghost of her handsome, vivacious older brother. The only person she could be completely honest with. She sighed very softly and perched on the edge of the beautiful old chair beside his bed. “I’m not a hero, Christian,” she said, taking his hand. The bones beneath his dry skin felt as brittle as old sticks.
“My hero,” he insisted with a chuckle that sounded like old leaves caught in the wind. He brought her hand up to his lips and gave her fingers a weak squeeze.