Under her hands, the blood from his throat had stopped flowing. It didn’t matter what Melpomene did, how many tears fell onto him or how hard she tried to shake him or how frantically her hands slid over the bloody mess of his throat, his blood had slowly stopped flowing. She was still kneeling at his side when Ares burst through, his voice turned her head (her skin pale, blood and tears smeared across her face) and she looked up at them, Ares and Marcie, and opened her mouth to speak but couldn’t.
She dropped her eyes down to Tragos again. He lay with his head near her bookcase, his blood had soaked a darker pattern into the rug. She was kneeling in it, kneeling in his blood. There was just so much - it coated her singlet, mixing with hers where her scar had burst open.
“He was too fast -” she said eventually, her voice tortured, dragged over hot coals. “I couldn’t stop him-”