[ Even with her vision unclear as it is— she can see that Ciel's leg has some terrible injury, with the way she's kneeling close to her. In the face of it, she still feels the light soothe of Ciel's magic easing the smaller cuts made by glass shards, the bruises made from when she'd fallen from the fire escape in attempt to get away for her assailant's range. She makes the realization rather quickly— Ciel doesn't intend to chase after them at all.
And yet, she can't help but wonder, is it her fault, that Ciel is stopping...? Ciel already knows about her conviction, her willingness to spend her life for the sake of the Kenoma. So why? Her face twists, the line of her mouth tightening into a thin line, trying to hold back tears. When her hand tries to reach out to her— to hold on, to seek comfort— it's marred, defiled and sticky with so much spilt blood. Underneath her clothes, even her shard is drenched with it, having been held in her hand for so long. Misa does what she can to avoid clutching at her companion anywhere that will hurt, trying to curl her fingers around fabric rather than flesh. She can't raise her arm at all, anyhow, so she settles for whatever contact she can make. With labored breaths: ]
I'm sorry.... I couldn't stop them...
[ She's just no good, is she? No matter how hard she tries, she's always coming up short, a pattern that she's inherited from her time on Earth. What else can she sacrifice, to be of use to their cause? That's what first comes to her mind, if she thinks of the heavy, cumbersome failure in their laps. Before she can stop them, tears well up and spill over her grimy cheeks, her already unsteady breathing growing that much more troubled.
The frustration is almost overwhelming, but there's little more she can do than continue to try to cling to consciousness, closing her eyes merely to give herself a rest from the near constant disorienting tipping of her vision from the bloodloss. The pain from the embedded bullets in her body is immense— immobilizing, even. But perhaps worse than that is the fear that she's been a burden, to someone enduring so much more than her. ]
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And yet, she can't help but wonder, is it her fault, that Ciel is stopping...? Ciel already knows about her conviction, her willingness to spend her life for the sake of the Kenoma. So why? Her face twists, the line of her mouth tightening into a thin line, trying to hold back tears. When her hand tries to reach out to her— to hold on, to seek comfort— it's marred, defiled and sticky with so much spilt blood. Underneath her clothes, even her shard is drenched with it, having been held in her hand for so long. Misa does what she can to avoid clutching at her companion anywhere that will hurt, trying to curl her fingers around fabric rather than flesh. She can't raise her arm at all, anyhow, so she settles for whatever contact she can make. With labored breaths: ]
I'm sorry.... I couldn't stop them...
[ She's just no good, is she? No matter how hard she tries, she's always coming up short, a pattern that she's inherited from her time on Earth. What else can she sacrifice, to be of use to their cause? That's what first comes to her mind, if she thinks of the heavy, cumbersome failure in their laps. Before she can stop them, tears well up and spill over her grimy cheeks, her already unsteady breathing growing that much more troubled.
The frustration is almost overwhelming, but there's little more she can do than continue to try to cling to consciousness, closing her eyes merely to give herself a rest from the near constant disorienting tipping of her vision from the bloodloss. The pain from the embedded bullets in her body is immense— immobilizing, even. But perhaps worse than that is the fear that she's been a burden, to someone enduring so much more than her. ]