Scars

It was not pleasant, the potion the healer instructed her to drink. She would much rather be drinking blood, but they do not approve of that. This was foolhardy, Karma knew, and half the reason she continued to sneak out in the dead of night. She needed to gain sustenance somehow, and these blood replenishing potions were not doing a thing.

Why would they? Her imperfect half needed blood just as much as her perfect half did. Everyone knew werewolf claws scarred Vampires. Everyone knew the scars were permanent. She did not see the point of the whispered conversations between the hired healer and the school’s one. More than once, she debated calling out that she could hear them, and more than once, she controlled herself.

Her focus remained on the stuffed thing she was sewing, the needle and thread quite simple, really. She did not dwell on it being such a womanly thing to do. She simply did it. Karma Black was not known for being womanly, but she was no man. Besides, Collin’s present wasn’t going to make itself.

Continuing on her patchwork stuffed wolf, the girl resisted the urge to grit her teeth. Being trapped here during the day was not pleasant. She understood that she needed to stay moderately monitored to be sure she wasn’t poisoned by the wolf’s lingering saliva or blood or whatever else it could have left behind, but the constant surveillance was getting more than troublesome. Perhaps she had brought this on herself, pulling a knife on the other healer. She’d yet to return.

Sighing again, she glanced away from her project, her eyes lighting on the gifts Geoffrey had left. While her father had not deigned to grace the Hospital Wing with his divine presence, he had sent divine presents, and while short of what was wanted, it was almost close enough. Geoffrey had nearly jumped for joy when she’d asked for the needle and thread, anyway, and her sigh of ‘alright, mother’ had barely phased the butler. The man had just left - surely to find some other form of entertainment than torturing her with fashion talk - and in her lonesome Karma contemplated other visitors.

It had become a sick game, the guessing. Who would come visit her in her downfall? Which would gloat? Her sister? Her housemates? Her boyfriend? Hothead came and went, of course. He was consistent, but she didn’t know how long that would last. She needed to get out of there. She needed-

The sound of approaching footsteps stopped where ever that dangerous thought was going. From down the hallway, she heard the person approach, and when there was no turn off in the course to the hospital wing, she found herself grinning. A visitor! For her!

Briefly, she scowled. Was this was being bedridden had reduced her to?

Humming a soft tune, she refocused on the almost completed stuffed wolf, smiling down at the grey and white thing. She was almost done.

And she had a visitor.

Coyota stood in the doorway, arms crossed over her stomach. Her eyes strayed around the room, squinting at the sun glaring through the windows. She walked toward one of the few occupied beds, her arms still crossed. The first thing she noticed was the large scar on Karma's face, the second was the small stuffed animal in her lap.

The girl bit her lip, refusing to be the first to talk. At the moment, she was content to simply scan Karma's face, and know that she wasn't dead.