Pure × Isaac Lahey

63.

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You weren't supposed to be there! You ruined it! You ruined everything!

The world was a whirlwind of blurry sounds and uneasy feelings, time and space rattling in shifting patterns.

The words, however, were crystal clear.

Elora's ears were filled with an infuriated voice, one ringing with familiarity and met with only a background of vibrations.

A hum in the drum, her father would call it.

You weren't supposed to be there!

A blurry figure of Sheriff Stilinski ran at her, going to his knees to meet her uncomfortably propped up position. Although his lips moved, nothing but static reached her.

"I wasn't supposed to be there," Elora mumbled, her voice nearly caught in her throat.

Blood. Blood and nails everywhere.

All over her.

"I need an ambulance!" Stilinski yelled over his shoulder, it muffled drastically. "Elora, hun, are you with me?"

"I wasn't supposed to be there," El repeated, bloody hands trying to push Stilinski away so she could get up.

Where was she? The Preserve?

"Thank God you were," Stilinski said, attempting to keep her down. "You saved a lot of people."

Elora could barely hear what he was saying, it lost within the ringing in her ears.

She only wanted to get up. That's all she wanted.

"Hey, hey you need to stay still," pressed Stilinski. "There's an ambulance coming for you. Don't move."

"I'm fine," El mumbled, trying to catch her breath as she tried to sit up. "I'm fine."

"Elora," Stilinski said, "you're not fine. You're a hero, but you're not fine."

I'm not a hero. I'm a villain.

The world remained foggy around Elora, only brief moments of clear vision greeting her almost mockingly.

A perimeter had been set up by yellow tape, a dozen trees either collapsed or completely obliterated.

But Elora was the sight to see.

"I - I don't -" Elora fumbled, trying to sit up despite her body screaming for her to stop. "What happened?"

The sun had begun to set, visibility fading with the hues melding slowly into black.

"You got the bomb out of the station," Noah told her, holding her head carefully as if she were his own. In a way, she was. "You saved my deputies, Argent, Derek, McCall. It went off out here in the Preserve."

The stench of burning iron greeted Elora more violently than before, an overwhelming sensation in her right leg causing her to cry out, deepening the wounds already criss-crossing her face.

"My leg!" El whimpered, seething in pain against Stilinski.

"I know, sweetheart," Stilinski calmly soothed. "I know."

"It's burning, it's burning," the witch said through sudden tears, every ounce of pain at bay until then. "My leg's burning."

Sheriff Stilinski paused, running a hand along Elora's hair. How do you say something like this? "Breathe, Elora. You need to stay calm. The ambulance is almost here."