[ blood is blood, no matter how it's offered or given. it's the stuff of life and death, messy and complicated at best and dangerous at worst; even caroline's, with its impossibly expedient healing properties, carries danger and risk in its viscosity.
(don't die today, laura, or you'll wake up craving it too.)
but as laura downs the shot like it's no more than a thick serving of cheap whiskey, the blood does its work. it stitches up laura's hand, sweeps away open wounds and realigns bones, surging immortality through the woman's body with near-magical speeds. in its wake, the scent of blood fades out, and caroline breathes a sigh of relief.
she might be like a shark, triggered by the possibility of a feed, but she doesn't want to be. there's relief in the passing of the desire if it keeps her friend safe. ]
no subject
(don't die today, laura, or you'll wake up craving it too.)
but as laura downs the shot like it's no more than a thick serving of cheap whiskey, the blood does its work. it stitches up laura's hand, sweeps away open wounds and realigns bones, surging immortality through the woman's body with near-magical speeds. in its wake, the scent of blood fades out, and caroline breathes a sigh of relief.
she might be like a shark, triggered by the possibility of a feed, but she doesn't want to be. there's relief in the passing of the desire if it keeps her friend safe. ]
Your hand looks better.
[ does her face?? ]