Sometimes, you just feel like writing a depressing scene. And then your whole book’s a sobbing mess.
~ ~ ~
“Emily?” he called. His voice made no echo, weak as it was. He took a few steps forward, biting in his breaths and swallowing them in the hopes they would stay for longer. A tremor ran down one leg and he collapsed to one side, legs buckling under the pressure of his upper body.
“Emily?” He whispered again. On his knees now, he fell forward to all fours, pulling himself across the floor. His Anachar whites grew slick and wet as the blood from his side pooled on the floor. By the stairs he finally stopped, laying against the wooden steps and sucking in a few shallow breaths. It was so dark. So dark. He closed his eyes, pupils skirting wildly around the edges of his eyes. They shot open again a few seconds later and he forced himself to sit up against the banister.
“Emily,” he whispered again. “Emily.”
Time slowed, the world warping and twisting around him. He felt his gaze swirl downward, focusing briefly on his hands before disappearing away into a mesh of color and shapes once again. Sounds from outside bled in through the walls, the clash of steel and distant groans rising above the rest. “Emily.”
A door slammed. Kurt tipped his head towards the kitchen, watching the entryway as best he could. He blinked slowly, raising his eyebrows in attempt to see more. Nothing. Emily. He closed his eyes, falling back against the banister. A click sounded behind him as the door to the kitchen opened once and closed again.
“Kurt!” He tried to sit up at the scream, but only slumped to the floor beside the stairs instead. Emily ran to his side, slipping briefly on the slick wood. She reached his side and reached out to cup his face, dress now trimmed in red. She cried again, hands vibrating wildly as she ran her touch over his cheeks and arms.
“H-help!” she yelled. “Maria, come here! Quickly!” She spotted the tear in his shirt and tore it open, screaming again at the sight of the wound. Shaking, she tore at overcoat of her whites, scrap of cloth quickly soaked and useless. She tore off another, replacing it and reaching out one hand to touch his face again.
“Emily,” Kurt murmured again. “Darling.”