Mary is (meltingsnow) wrote in repose, @ 2018-04-16 22:12:00 |
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Entry tags: | *log, mary moreau, patrick gunster |
log: mary/patrick save a girl
Who: Patrick, Mary
Where: Patrick's elf land -> enchanted forest
When: recently
What: saving a girl
Warnings: violence
Once Mary had stepped through the chron and into the beautiful elf village Patrick liked to hide away in, she was barely awake. She zombied her way towards the designated bed and immediately passed out before anyone could ask if she had enough blankets. Repose was a constant source of stress in the past 24 hours. The silent forest and this looming, awful fear that Dylan was going to revert back to his terrible self sooner rather than later left her a work-a-holic that refused to sleep. But, there were few things princesses liked more than a 12 hour nap. In the right magical conditions, Mary probably could have slept another ten years.
Eventually, she woke up, her dark hair out of place and her clothes mostly thrown around the room in various stages of sleep. She didn't alert anyone she had risen from the dead and instead quietly found a place to bathe and change into more appropriate gear. With her bow and arrow strapped to her back, she left the hut that Patrick had directed her towards and marched over to the place they were keeping the Huntsman. It felt like ages ago, but she remembered promising the man her heart. She would rip it out of her own chest for him if she couldn't retrieve his daughter. Snow White still believed this, even if Patrick would try to get in the way. In her land, a promise meant something. Failure had consequences.
She touched her chest, wondering if the red beating jewel inside had any darkness welled up in it since the last time her lovely step mother ripped it out of her. Snow had felt that she had done everything in her power to avoid letting anger take hold, but who could say if it truly did any good? What would happen if the girl resting inside of that tomb was actually dead?
Snow shook the thought out of her mind, looking up as a critter on a branch chatter at her. She hummed it a soft tune, pulled an acorn out of her satchel and tossed it up to him. "Wish me luck, little man." And the squirrel did.