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Namira
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Null sheen.
[ *  *  *  *  *  *  * ]
((Kris continued from Livebait))

Stumbling on the uncertain footing of the mountain trail, Kris's stomach lurched and then tumbled over the tipping point. She collapsed to her knees on the hard ground and choked out a string of bile. Yellow. Ropey. It barely even qualified as vomit. When... when had she eaten last? Kris could barely remember, barely even think straight. Couldn't tell whether the gnawing at her stomach was hunger or guilt or pangs of illness. Flies buzzed around the darkly caked blood staining her hair and face, matting it into clumps. Her clothes were little better off, despite her change of outfit earlier. Lying down in the massacre in the hall of mirrors had drenched Kris in it all over again.

And why not? Someone like her... she might as well look as horrific as she acted. Back there... why had she done that? Kris couldn't even begin to form words, hazard the slightest expectation. There had been an opportunity for murder, an opportunity to remove one more threat to the game... and she'd taken it.

Like a good little player.

Kris choked again as her stomach endeavoured to empty itself even further, the substances dripping down her chin and onto her shirt. She barely had enough togetherness to wipe her face with her sleeve. It hardly mattered. The clothes were as filthy as her face. Even the pristine gift gun she'd found was now smeared with blood and grime. Literal and figurative.

Cradling the gun close, Kris's head jerked up like a marionette. There were figures, not far away. Vague instincts were telling her to be on guard, to be ready to fight. Others...

Take them. Easy. Pull the trigger.

She shuddered and sagged down.

Can't... not... can't keep.

Dad...
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Burn On · The Mountain