"My Gabriel." One hand is still on his arm; she smiles and leans forward, finally pulling her other hand away from her chest and reaching out to brush cold fingers over his cheek.
(The light flickers again, and as it does the walls of the hospital room seem to glisten, reflecting the intermittent illumination.
They almost look ... curved.)
Her fingertips are damp, and leave red trails on his face-- marks as red as the crimson flower that, with the pressure of her hand now gone, begins to blossom bloodily on her sweater, over her heart.
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timeasmymeasure
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Date: 2008-01-28 03:18 am (UTC)(The light flickers again, and as it does the walls of the hospital room seem to glisten, reflecting the intermittent illumination.
They almost look ... curved.)
Her fingertips are damp, and leave red trails on his face-- marks as red as the crimson flower that, with the pressure of her hand now gone, begins to blossom bloodily on her sweater, over her heart.