❝ Have you ever loved a rose,
and watched her slowly bloom;
and as her petals would unfold;
you grew drunk on her perfume.❞
- Lang Leav, The Rose
[ copyright ]
- w. herondale x oc
- plagiarism...
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ROSELA BRUSHED OFF THE ASHES that had clung onto the fabrics of her dress. Blood stains covered her skirts, a fabric by her sleeves was torn. She suddenly felt droopy, the exciting feeling of a battle had already died down, the rush of adrenaline gone.
"Rose, you're bleeding." Jem pointed at her sleeves before unbuttoning his shirt, and wincing, he had a long cut on one pale shoulder; he looked away, his mouth tight, Will moved closer and inspected Jem's injury.
Rosela finally glanced down, she was about to protest and say it was only a stain when she saw blood slowly trickling down the fabrics of her arm.
"Oh," she mumbled, taking a closer look, Rosela noticed a long cut—similar to Jem's—had now appeared on her arm where the sleeve was torn off. Having been aware of her wound, she felt it sting.
The Valois girl brought her stele out from her pocket, drawing an iratze near her wound. She felt the familiar warmth of the stele engulfed her as she carefully drew the Mark on her skin. The faint glow of her stele dimmed as she finished, the wound healing remarkably fast since it wasn't really much of a serious injury, becoming another one of her scars.
Having finished tending to her wound, Rosela strolled over Tessa, who had Turned back to herself. "How are you feeling, Tessa?" she asked, shifting her glance between Tessa and her brother.
"A bit tired." replied she, throwing a worried glance at her brother who was still stuck on the chair.
It was Henry who freedNathaniel—Tessa's brother—from the torture chair by the simple expedient of smashing it apart with the flat side of a sword until the manacles came free. Nathaniel slid to the floor, where he lay moaning, Tessa cradling him. Charlotte fussed a bit, bringing wet cloths to clean Nate's face, —passing one to Rose—,and a ragged bit of curtain to throw over him, before she raced off to engage Benedict Lightwood in an energetic conversation—during which she alternated between pointing back at Tessa and Nathaniel and waving her hands in a dramatic manner.
Rosela had managed to wipe some of the blood off her skin and dress, but much to her dismay there were stains that couldn't be washed by the cloth, she suspected a warm bath could be the solution. She let out a euphoric sigh at the thought.
Will, having finished with Jem, came sauntering over to them. "Back to yourself, I see," he said to Tessa. He had a damp towel in one hand but hadn't yet bothered to clean the blood off his face and neck. Tessa glanced down at herself.
"I didn't know you knew how to use a pistol," Will added.
"I don't," Tessa said. "I think Camille must have. It was—instinctive." She bit her lip. "Not that it matters, since it didn't work."
