Benefit of being a werewolf. She's probably been stabbed, shot and had bones broken more times than she can count, but her body doesn't show it. It's the kind of skin that most people would be envious of, but with it comes the detachment of self-preservation. You throw yourself further into things because you know you won't carry the marks of them, you can distance the things that happen to you because no one else can see them.
She doesn't like that these things happen to her, but she also doesn't worry about them either. She doesn't think about them. Pain is part of being a werewolf the same way that control is. They take them both in equal measure.
Besides, sometimes you have to hurt more to heal.
This doesn't mean that she doesn't recognize that scars are important for that reason. They show where you've been, proof that you've lived, that life is impacted you in some way. Cora's life has been hit by a semi-truck more than once, but all the scars she carries are internal, emotional, and those are the ones that should show. In some ways they do, in the stand-off way she views the world, bite that comes before the bark. The way she gives away her self-preservation in exchange for defending those she cares about, those that do break and scar, the ones that die long before they should and need to be avenged or fought for, because if she doesn't, then what's the point of her being here if she's going to do nothing?
It's the way she freezes at the fire that shoots from one of the doors on the boat, one that she and Alek had opened at random. The flames leap towards them and the panic sets in before anything else and she's fisting her hand in his shirt, yanking him back. Fire's claimed too much of her family already, she's not going to let it claim him too. Once that initial tug is done, however, that tense alert feeling claws at her chest, making it difficult to breathe and in a moment she's back in the middle of that blaze again, listening to her family scream and cry out for help around her, and there being nothing she can do to stop it. She couldn't save them. She couldn't save any of them, she could barely save herself.
(She was eleven years-old, but she still blames herself at the same time.)
The problem right now, however, is that she can't breathe, and her hands scramble at Alek's shoulders, trying to keep herself upright, because she needs to run. They need to go, go now, go fast, but she can't manage to form the words. All she can do is panic, and underneath all the fear, there's a part of her that hates it.
these keep turning out really emotional i'm sorry
Benefit of being a werewolf. She's probably been stabbed, shot and had bones broken more times than she can count, but her body doesn't show it. It's the kind of skin that most people would be envious of, but with it comes the detachment of self-preservation. You throw yourself further into things because you know you won't carry the marks of them, you can distance the things that happen to you because no one else can see them.
She doesn't like that these things happen to her, but she also doesn't worry about them either. She doesn't think about them. Pain is part of being a werewolf the same way that control is. They take them both in equal measure.
Besides, sometimes you have to hurt more to heal.
This doesn't mean that she doesn't recognize that scars are important for that reason. They show where you've been, proof that you've lived, that life is impacted you in some way. Cora's life has been hit by a semi-truck more than once, but all the scars she carries are internal, emotional, and those are the ones that should show. In some ways they do, in the stand-off way she views the world, bite that comes before the bark. The way she gives away her self-preservation in exchange for defending those she cares about, those that do break and scar, the ones that die long before they should and need to be avenged or fought for, because if she doesn't, then what's the point of her being here if she's going to do nothing?
It's the way she freezes at the fire that shoots from one of the doors on the boat, one that she and Alek had opened at random. The flames leap towards them and the panic sets in before anything else and she's fisting her hand in his shirt, yanking him back. Fire's claimed too much of her family already, she's not going to let it claim him too. Once that initial tug is done, however, that tense alert feeling claws at her chest, making it difficult to breathe and in a moment she's back in the middle of that blaze again, listening to her family scream and cry out for help around her, and there being nothing she can do to stop it. She couldn't save them. She couldn't save any of them, she could barely save herself.
(She was eleven years-old, but she still blames herself at the same time.)
The problem right now, however, is that she can't breathe, and her hands scramble at Alek's shoulders, trying to keep herself upright, because she needs to run. They need to go, go now, go fast, but she can't manage to form the words. All she can do is panic, and underneath all the fear, there's a part of her that hates it.