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Jun. 20th, 2005 07:41 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
capt_angieAngelina wakes slowly. In the few minutes between full wakefullness and sleep, everything is fuzzy. Slowly though, memories start to filter through. Smoke. Screaming. The Dark Mark. The Death Eater... The bodies.
No! Can't be. Just a dream! Thats all, just a bad dream, she tries to convince herself, and for a moment she believes it. So if it's a dream then why do I feel like I was hit with a ten ton freight train?
Realization hits her and she feels physically sick. She leans over the edge of the bed, vomits onto the floor. The acidic taste of bile burns her mouth and throat. There is a glass on the bedside table. It's empty so she picks up the glass and goes to the bathroom, wincing with every step. She ignores the mirror above the sink for now, and runs the the cold tap and pours herself a glass of water to rinse the awful taste out of her mouth. She drinks the rest of the water and puts the glass to the side, and only then does she properly look in the mirror.
Deep down she knows that the state of her face isn't important, not compared to the atrocities of the match. But if she lets herself think about everything else that happened yesterday, then she knows she'll break down.
So for the moment she pushes everything else to the background and concentrates on her face. Fleur did a good job the night before and the wounds are clean and dry and some of the less damaged areas are already starting to heal, leaving a faint pink mark. There'll be scaring once it's completely healed and theres nothing she can do about that.
Welcome to a lifetime of glamour charms and hiding behind your hair, Angelina.
She is still in the clothes she wore to the match yesterday only now they are covered in blood and dirt. Her blood. She slowly removes them, almost every movement hurting.
It's harder to block out the events of yesterday as she stands in front of the mirror in just her underwear. Her back and left side are bruised yellow and purple from where she hit the the ground. No wonder she feels so sore.
She runs a bath hoping it will help ease the pain and steps out of the rest of her clothes. She climbs into the bath, letting the water fill up around her. She washes the grime and dirt and dried blood from her body and hair slowly.
With nothing else to keep her mind busy, her thoughts return to the match, and finally she can't help herself and she cries.
No! Can't be. Just a dream! Thats all, just a bad dream, she tries to convince herself, and for a moment she believes it. So if it's a dream then why do I feel like I was hit with a ten ton freight train?
Realization hits her and she feels physically sick. She leans over the edge of the bed, vomits onto the floor. The acidic taste of bile burns her mouth and throat. There is a glass on the bedside table. It's empty so she picks up the glass and goes to the bathroom, wincing with every step. She ignores the mirror above the sink for now, and runs the the cold tap and pours herself a glass of water to rinse the awful taste out of her mouth. She drinks the rest of the water and puts the glass to the side, and only then does she properly look in the mirror.
Deep down she knows that the state of her face isn't important, not compared to the atrocities of the match. But if she lets herself think about everything else that happened yesterday, then she knows she'll break down.
So for the moment she pushes everything else to the background and concentrates on her face. Fleur did a good job the night before and the wounds are clean and dry and some of the less damaged areas are already starting to heal, leaving a faint pink mark. There'll be scaring once it's completely healed and theres nothing she can do about that.
Welcome to a lifetime of glamour charms and hiding behind your hair, Angelina.
She is still in the clothes she wore to the match yesterday only now they are covered in blood and dirt. Her blood. She slowly removes them, almost every movement hurting.
It's harder to block out the events of yesterday as she stands in front of the mirror in just her underwear. Her back and left side are bruised yellow and purple from where she hit the the ground. No wonder she feels so sore.
She runs a bath hoping it will help ease the pain and steps out of the rest of her clothes. She climbs into the bath, letting the water fill up around her. She washes the grime and dirt and dried blood from her body and hair slowly.
With nothing else to keep her mind busy, her thoughts return to the match, and finally she can't help herself and she cries.
