Italy Romana | Chiara Vargas
08 March 2011 @ 05:51 pm
A. [On the floor of Mayfield's Church of Salvation, just behind the alter, you can find Romana's body, neck broken, with a bottle of Holy Water spilt next to her. Her eyes are shut, a single tear in the corner of her eye]

B. [Sometime later there's a call, the voice clearly Romana's, even if it is choked up in what sounds like tears]

It hurts... bastardi, it hurts so much... why didn't you help, why, I would have helped you...

[A small burst of static interrupts her and the line goes silent, the voice waiting for a response before continuing it's game]

C. [She's warm, comfortable, as Romana wakes, sleepily eyeing the room Mayfield has given her. In the moments of her first waking she lazily rolls over, her mind slowly focusing on yesterday. And when she remembers she gasps, sitting up quickly, her hand flying to her neck. While it feels perfectly fine, she still gets up quickly, to the small vanity table, to check the mirror, needing visual evidence to abate her fears.

...she's fine. There's not a bruise, not a scratch, nothing. She swallows, shaky fingers tracing a line down her throat as she stares. She was dead, she knows. It may have been a quick death, but it happened.

Eventually she makes it to the phone, cradling the base unit in her lap as she leans against the wall. Her voice, without her realising, is nearly identical to the one the angel used yesterday.]


Is... is anybody there?