"But Adela, we can't leave her - s-someone has to take her down, we have to take her back to the Citadel, it - Dorian, I -"
The whirling sound of the arrow hits her alongside the sudden rush of pain and Hermione chokes, lifting a hand to touch the spot on her shoulder, the one not gripping Dorian's so tight she thinks her nails might cut into him and draw all the blood out of his veins. She looks so pale, she thinks, as if her hand is white, ghostly in her panic, and she breathes out a sharp noise as she feels something drain away from her. It's like that feeling of blood granite, the feeling of being trapped, and all she can do is twitch her hand.
She can't feel her magic - it's like it's there, on the edge, as if someone is reaching out to try and rip it from her, as if her fingers are brushing over it but there's a barrier, panes of glass between her and what made her who she was. The blood trickled down her shoulders, sticking to her skin, and she twists as she realises what's happened. An arrow, poison, enough to make so weak that drawing upon magic enough to get them to freedom would be impossible.
The Marchioness has never hidden her ability to teleport, after all, and it's after she shoves Dorian, trying to get them both behind a tree, that another arrow whizzes by and hits the trunk behind them with a sharp, snapped sound.
"I can't. I think - there must have been poison, Dorian, I can't feel my magic, not enough to apparate. It's like being too tired to stand up and run, it's - it's like not being able to breathe properly."
And it hurts like a pierced lung, too, her hand touching her stomach. Her shoulder aches, burning like fire, like the Jabberwock, and she chokes on it. She would fall apart if she wasn't so used to this now, to trying to keep her head steady in the heat of a moment. They have minutes before they have to run again, another arrow, and her hand lifts to clutch at her compass. She could call for help but there's not enough time.
"Dorian, we have to run."
There's a snap behind them, a crunch, and she shoves him, falling back against the tree, chest first, the crunch of the arrow against the wood making her cry out.
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The whirling sound of the arrow hits her alongside the sudden rush of pain and Hermione chokes, lifting a hand to touch the spot on her shoulder, the one not gripping Dorian's so tight she thinks her nails might cut into him and draw all the blood out of his veins. She looks so pale, she thinks, as if her hand is white, ghostly in her panic, and she breathes out a sharp noise as she feels something drain away from her. It's like that feeling of blood granite, the feeling of being trapped, and all she can do is twitch her hand.
She can't feel her magic - it's like it's there, on the edge, as if someone is reaching out to try and rip it from her, as if her fingers are brushing over it but there's a barrier, panes of glass between her and what made her who she was. The blood trickled down her shoulders, sticking to her skin, and she twists as she realises what's happened. An arrow, poison, enough to make so weak that drawing upon magic enough to get them to freedom would be impossible.
The Marchioness has never hidden her ability to teleport, after all, and it's after she shoves Dorian, trying to get them both behind a tree, that another arrow whizzes by and hits the trunk behind them with a sharp, snapped sound.
"I can't. I think - there must have been poison, Dorian, I can't feel my magic, not enough to apparate. It's like being too tired to stand up and run, it's - it's like not being able to breathe properly."
And it hurts like a pierced lung, too, her hand touching her stomach. Her shoulder aches, burning like fire, like the Jabberwock, and she chokes on it. She would fall apart if she wasn't so used to this now, to trying to keep her head steady in the heat of a moment. They have minutes before they have to run again, another arrow, and her hand lifts to clutch at her compass. She could call for help but there's not enough time.
"Dorian, we have to run."
There's a snap behind them, a crunch, and she shoves him, falling back against the tree, chest first, the crunch of the arrow against the wood making her cry out.