Splashes of crimson on the snow stained it a dull pink. The stench of blood, coppery, thick, all consuming, was everywhere. All around was death and destruction, pain and blood. So much blood, seeping into the ground, into his skin.
He stared. That is all he could do, stare in horror at the grotesque shape that was once a living human being…once his friend. He swallowed.
Blood. So much of the warm slick blood, costing her body, coating his hands, coating the surrounding ground. He hadn't realized there could be so much blood in one so small.
So little, she was so little. Why had he never noticed how little she was? One small hand was curled, like she had been trying to grasp something. Blonde hair stained with her own blood surrounded her head.
She wasn't really a blonde. She hated her hair color, so she changed it. Changed it to the bright blonde, stained with red.
Her eyes were still open. Wide blue eyes, staring at the cloudy sky. Long lashes, caked with snow, and her blood.
He didn't feel himself move. When he was aware of what he was doing, she was in his arms, and he was walking back…where? He didn't know.
Shouts, he could hear shouts. Shouts meant people, people meant blood. So much of her blood was on him, coating his hands and his shoulders, his clothes, his hair. Shouts meant people, people meant more blood.
"No more blood." He whispered, shaking his head. He clutched the small blonde tighter. "No more blood."
He stumbled, trying to walk away from the sound of the shouts that followed him. No more blood. No more blood.
She felt heavy in his arms. How could she be heavy? Her blood was everywhere, on his clothes, on her clothes, everywhere but where it should be. Should still be inside of her, but it wasn't.
The winds blew across him, cold as the woman in his arms. Shouldn't be so cold, she shouldn't be so cold. When the blood came out it must have taken her warmth with it.
Blood. Blood everywhere, a long trail of it following him as he walked. Her blood, still staining the snow a dull pink. So much blood.
Roaring filled his ears. Who was roaring? Flashing lights filled his eyes. Lights weren't good. Lights meant people; people meant blood.
Suddenly, he was falling. Falling face first into the snow. He looked up, she was still in his arms, bloody, cold, so cold. Who was that?
Voices, he heard voices. Or a voice. Voice of the man in front of him, with hair the color of the blood stained locks on the head of the girl in his arms.
The man sees the girl. He thinks that the man screams, but he can't tell. All he knows is that the man reaches to take her from his arms.
He let the man take her. The man stared at her, cuddled her close, let her blood stain his clothes.
"What happened?!" The man's voice cuts through his fog.
"Blood. So much blood." He answered, still staring at the dead girl. "So much blood. So much, so much, so much…"
"How is he?" Dani asked Sam as the two stood in front of a door. Sam shook his head, tears spilling down his face.
"He still doesn't remember. He doesn't remember anything. Not even--" Sam's voice broke painfully. "Tabitha."
Dani shook her head, and looked in the small window of Rictor's room.
The young man was in the corner, his arms still wrapped around the dead girl still in his mind. "So much blood, so much blood, so much blood…"