Icy needles pelted down upon her beaten body. The street was shadowy, freezing, and deafening with the thunderous sound of wind and rain. Not a single soul dared to roam the roads of Barconia this night, not because of the heavy downpour but because the time between sundown and sunup belonged to the underworld. As dull and nondescript the town may seem in daylight, its nightlife was a kaleidoscope of violence, drugs, crime, and nightmarish pleasures. However, thugs, murderers, and ruffians were the least of Livia Madryn’s worries.
Shivering from the rivulets of cold spreading over every inch of her, she looked around desperately, squinting against the storm. Her mind refused to stop playing back the horror she had just survived by the skin of her teeth.
The rank breath of over imbibing. Her own screams. Strange roaming hands. A flash of metal.
And blood. So much blood.
Red, hot, metallic.
She shook her head, teeth clenching while attempting to expel the ugly flashbacks. Sticky crimson hands ran through her drenched locks and she clutched her head pleading for calm. Pleading for a way. Pleading with God to help her survive after what she had done. In the midst of her internal maelstrom, a sudden thought pierced bright and sharp; a fiery arrow in the night.
Run, Livia. Run.