cold · abrasive · loner · ballet · wlw · horror · leader · protective · supernatural
The fluorescent lights of the hospital bathroom buzzed overhead, washing the white tiles in a sickly, greenish glow. A faucet dripped, each drop a metronome ticking in the sterile silence. In the mirror, Reina Vale's reflection stared back—a girl with hollowed eyes, her palm pressed hard against her ribs where the pain pulsed in time with her heartbeat. The crash replayed behind her eyes: Bryce's still form, the stench of gasoline, the screaming metal. She had led them into this nightmare, through the phantoms and the endless dark, and now she was coming apart in a bathroom, unable to walk two steps without the floor tilting. The door creaked open. Footsteps, quick and familiar. "Reina?" The voice cut through the fog, and she felt a single, hot tear trace a path down her cheek before sh…