First aid

Bleeding and limping, Tamela made her way through the city. As she navigated the city's winding streets, the early morning light brightened, the glare stinging her eyes. The towering glass structures reflected the first rays of dawn, while the ancient stone facades bore witness to centuries gone by.

Each step she took was a painful reminder of the battle that had unfolded in a dimly lit alleyway. The towering buildings seemed to press in on her, casting their shadows and adding to her feeling of isolation and vulnerability.

She was yet to feel safe. The battle was over, or was it? She had no reason to believe the attack was an isolated one. What if another monster pulled itself from the shadows and attacked? In her present state, she was completely vulnerable, with no way to call for help. With no phone, she couldn't contact her father. Any humans that she called for would have no chance against such a monster. She would only be sending them to their deaths. Even with her training and her arts, she was helpless until the mysterious power appeared.

What was the power? As curious and surprised as she was, Tamela had no energy to spare thinking about it. Her thoughts solidified into just one word. Home. She had to get to the safety of home and her father.

Her wounds burned with every motion, and her limping gait was an agonizing reminder of her supernatural encounter. Blood leaked from her, spotting the pavement and leaving long crimson streaks when she slipped on it. She wanted to speed up and get home as fast as possible, but her body wouldn't obey. She had to be satisfied with her slow, but steady pace. 

As she made her way through the shadows, past the city's bustling streets, she couldn't help but feel like an outsider, living on the fringes of the ordinary world. The humans were ignorant of the secrets and dangers lurking just out of sight.

The sky darkened and she felt a drop of rain. It was joined by its fellows and soon she was soaked through. Her only solace was that it would wash away the grisly path leading straight to her abode.

With every squishing step, she grew more determined to reach her home, where her father awaited. The journey was a solitary one, a stark reminder of her unique existence as a Shinigami in a world where the boundary between the living and the afterlife was blurred, and where hidden dangers awaited in the shadows. She longed for someone to lean on and was surprised when her thoughts shifted to Nathaniel's eyes. Why was she thinking about that man, a veritable stranger, now?

Her heart lightened when she saw the gates of her house standing open in front of her. Finally, she was home!

Tamela stumbled through the entrance of their estate, and finally feeling safe, collapsed in the entryway. 

Her father, Abaddon, had been waiting, his initial anger at her lateness written across his face, but it quickly turned to concern as he saw that she was not only wet and clearly exhausted but injured as well.

He rushed to her side, his face a mix of fear and worry. "Tamela, what happened? You're hurt," he exclaimed, his usually stern and imposing demeanor giving way to genuine anxiety for his daughter's well-being.

Gently, he swept her into his arms, carrying her through the dimly lit house. Their journey through the home was marked by the hushed rustle of antique tapestries, their intricate designs telling stories of the past, and the faint scent of old leather-bound books that lined the shelves. The heavy, ornate furniture bore the weight of countless years of history, their surfaces gleaming with the soft illumination of carefully placed candelabras.

Abaddon's voice was soothing as he murmured comforting words, trying to ease his daughter's distress. "You're safe now, Tamela. I've got you. Everything will be all right." His strong arms cradled her, and she felt the warmth of his love and protection, a stark contrast to his usual stern demeanor.

They entered the living room, a chamber richly appointed with plush, dark leather sofas and heavy curtains that blocked out the outside world. The walls were adorned with ancient paintings that depicted scenes of death and the transition to the underworld, a constant reminder of their unique family duty.

Abaddon gently lowered Tamela onto one of the sofas, his hands working with practiced efficiency as he peeled off her wet clothing and administered first aid. His touch was tender, his love for his daughter evident in every careful motion as he tended to her wounds. The living room, with its dim lighting and aura of somber luxury, provided a comforting backdrop to their intimate moment of care and connection.

Tamela couldn't help but worry about the state of the rich leather couch, her discomfort evident in her voice as she mumbled, "I'm sorry about the couch, Father."

Abaddon, however, hushed her concerns with a reassuring smile. "Don't worry about that, my dear. The couch can be cleaned. Right now, what matters most is your well-being."

His hands continued to work with gentle precision as he tended to her injuries. He leaned down, his voice a comforting murmur. "Just lay there and let me take care of you. You can tell me what happened when we're done. Rest for now."

As his soothing words washed over her, Tamela felt a sense of security that only her father could provide.  The sense of security and love that enveloped her in that solemn room was a reminder that, despite the mysterious and perilous nature of their lives, they were bound by a deep and unbreakable bond.

The pain in her body began to recede, and the dimly lit living room offered a serene backdrop to their intimate moment. Exhausted from the battle and the pain, Tamela's eyes grew heavy, and she dozed off for a while, secure in the knowledge that she was safe in her father's care.

Awake again, she noticed that at some point her father had toweled her hair and pulled a woolen blanket over her. Tamela levered herself up against the arm and began to recount the harrowing encounter with the shadow monster. Her voice trembled with the memory of the battle, and she described the creature's nightmarish appearance and the eerie silence it maintained throughout the confrontation. She felt sure it was the creature's nature, rather than a choice that made it silent. More than anything, it felt like it was formed from their substance. An animate manifestation of the very shadows it had pulled itself from.

With a mixture of fear and curiosity in her eyes, she implored her father, "Father, what was that thing? I've never seen anything like it. What's happening, why did it attack me? Why couldn't I harm it with our family's technique?"

The dimly lit living room provided a solemn atmosphere for their conversation. As Abaddon prepared to respond to her questions, the air was thick with anticipation and a sense of foreboding, leaving them both eager for answers.