[OPEN]
Who: Naminé, Riqis,Vanora, anyone who shows up.
Where: Naminé's apartment in the Sanctuary and the hall outside.
When: Wednesday, late afternoon/early evening.
Summary: Two more for the death count. Vanora's making a lot of noise outside in the hall.
Rating: PG-13 for character death and blood.
Anyone even remotely near the Sanctuary could probably hear the howling by now. A very distressed, half-grown direwolf was still scratching at the door of one of the apartments, stopping only every so often to pace and turn in circles, crying pitifully, even though by now, and even before now, it was useless. There was nothing to fight, nothing to growl or scratch or bite into submission, and nothing she could do or have done. By now, they were already dead.
The door had already been abused once that week, and it was some small mercy that even with Vanora's scratching, it had not sustained too much damage. It would have been some consolation, at least, to the owner of the apartment to which it led, had she been alive.
The bed in the apartment was occupied, although perhaps the term no longer applied. The thin girl that lay there was tangled loosely in the covers. She'd grown even more fragile while she was ill -- it had been so difficult to keep anything down, and she hadn't the experience or the control to try very hard. Her blonde hair curled around her face and rested on the pillow, still in some places pressed against her skin in a way that might have, had she been able to feel it, been uncomfortable. Her skin was ashen in death, but her expression was not strained. She had not fought it, at least not noticably. There was still blood on her lips and speckled on her hand, despite what attempts may or may not have been made to remove it. She was resting on her back, her face tilted a little to the side and absolutely still. One of her hands was extended past the edge of the mattress, limp but curled inwards as if still holding on to the hand that had already slipped out.
Riqis was slumped against the side of the bed, his body curled inwards. The blood that stained his skin was more pronounced; he'd gone last, it seemed. His skin, darker than hers, had not gotten as pale as hers, but his body was just as still.
And outside Vanora continued to lament, not making quite enough noise to wake the dead.