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The lights break as Rumi screams, glass raining down on the stage as their fans startle and cry out. The worst sight: Rumi, hair a mess and hands gripping her head, as her patterns—a bright lilac, spreading from her arm to her neck to her face and then down—grow further and further, more and more visible, with the only lights left focused on her.
She looks bad. A cornered animal, quickly realizing the trap has closed around it's leg.
And then she lifts her head, finds their eyes—and it's horror in her face. Fear. Pain.
Zoey watches her friend’s face crumble, how one of her eyes cries tears and the other, the one that's bright gold with a ragged pupil, cries blood.
She and Mira exchange a look, and Zoey knows. It's over. It's finally, finally over.
And it's on.
“What are you doing!? Turn on the second set! And focus the damn camera on me, damnit!” Mira barks, rushing to the stage as she materializes her polearm and, in a show of exemplary restraint, cuts her boot’s leg open and away, where patterns just like Rumi's rest.
Zoey grins, and sheds her jacket.
Or,
Rumi has a secret: she's half demon.
Zoey and Mira have a secret, too: they know. -
Bookmark Notes:
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Bookmark Notes:
2