He stared at her she could feel the reproach like a knife in her gut. In it was the same face, but with black hair, blue eyes. He held out the broken glass, now tinted green, for her to see. It ran in rivulets between his fingers, down his arm, dripping to the ground and pooling at his bare feet. Ectoplasm welled up, acid green, shockingly bright in the midst of the darkness. She cringed as his fingers tightened around the sharp edges, slicing open cuts in the soft skin. He simply held out his hand-the bruised, lacerated hand that had undergone her merciless attentions. Maddie reached for him, then drew back, breath catching, as the image rippled and almost disappeared. A shackle, one of her own design, clamped cruelly tight to one ankle a broken cable trailed behind with each limping step.
His eyes were dull glints of green buried deep in the pits beneath his brow. The boyishness had been stolen from his face there were hollows in his cheeks and lines around his mouth. He was gaunt, pale, shreds of black jumpsuit hanging loosely on a wasted frame. Still, she watched avidly as he came into focus she was hungry for the sight of him. She didn’t need the tousled white hair or the faint glow that emanated from his skin to tell her who it was. Maddie knew that even from the beginning.Ī figured walked toward her out of the dark. Broken does not mean non-functioning, or incapacitated.
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