He was trapped in a small, compact room with bright shards of glass protruding from every available surface. The blue haired girl reached out for him. He glared, crimson and the scent of copper clung to her arm. She was bleeding. No, he shook his head. Yet she continued to reach for him. Red eyes stared deep into his purple eyes and then he understood. She would die, whether or not she saved him. Glass shattered around her as she attacked it with her sword.
"A." She said simply, knees shaking, lacerations criss crossing her skin, old scars replenished by the new.
"Wiv-" He faltered in speech as she collapsed.
Everything was a blur. He pulled her away to safety, to where he knew the medic would be awaiting her return, prepared to heal the boy that the girl, who had quickly risen to power as a fighter and military leader, loved. The medic who drew their sword, unsure why their beloved leader was being carried, unmoving.
"How is she?" he asked as the medic examined his beloved.
The medic whispered something to an assistant and walked away. The assistant's face went pale as they spoke barely above a whisper. "He siad there is nothing more that they could do, so we had to let her go. I'm sorry."
This is such a great sensory detail: "He glared, crimson and the scent of copper clung to her arm."
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