Ceres Dahal was cursed by a witch to live forever and watch her loved ones die.
Steve Rogers woke after 70 years in the ice and emerged into a whole new world.
They may not have much. But, in a universe that's constantly changing faster than they ca...
Ceres closes her eyes and scrunches her face against the onslaught of blood that sprays across her skin and clothes. A woman screams from somewhere behind her, splitting the sounds of Brooklyn traffic and disturbing a flock of pigeons that had been pecking at something on the ground.
The warm liquid drips down her face. Ceres slowly peels her eyes open to see a car nearly striking the curb as the driver slams on the brakes, causing the tires to squeal before they can run over the man's body. The semi-truck that had just plowed him continues on like nothing had happened— as if they hadn't just run a red light and killed a man at four in the afternoon on a Tuesday.
Some people don't seem bothered by the accident. Nothing can impede them on their commute to wherever it is they're going, so they step around the mangled corpse that's slowly pooling blood all over the crosswalk, their faces blank. New York has stomped all of the empathy out of them. Maybe in another city, crowds would have gathered to observe the horrific event, pulling their phones out to record or take pictures. It may have made the news. But in this place where you can witness a life-altering event on your morning commute to work on any day of the week, hardly anyone seems bothered.
Ceres still hasn't stepped off of the curb. People bump into her as they push past, eager to cross the street before the timer runs out. She pointedly avoids looking at the man's body but stares down at her clothing as if in a daze. Her white t-shirt has a tidal wave of crimson staining the fabric, causing it to stick to her abdomen. There are a few droplets on her denim pants as well. At least the café she works at requires employees to remove their aprons at the end of their shifts, or else she would have been in even more trouble.
"Oh my God," a woman cries in a trembling voice. Ceres realizes it must be the same one who'd screamed, for every other witness on the sidewalk has already fled the scene. "Are you okay? Here, let me help you."
Ceres belatedly realizes she's talking to her. Still a bit dazed by what had just happened right before her eyes, she turns to see a lady in her forties digging through an enormous purse that may as well double as a bowling bag. Her entire arm seems to disappear in it as she shuffles through her belongings. Eventually, she produces a small packet of tissues and quickly pulls one out, then begins wiping at Ceres's cheeks.
