"Shit!"

Inhaling deeply with a start Mouku returns to consciousness, only to be met with agonizing pain that leaves her writhing and gasping in the pool of her own blood. Watch, as the immortal whom has suffered a thousand deaths is forced once more into life, see the desperate pain in her eyes threatening to drive her mad as she is denied the embrace and comfort of oblivion. Observe how she chokes while her own blood fills her lungs threatening to drown her even as she coughs it out weakly, forming a bloody froth around her lips. Now watch as she reaches shakily despite her anguish, stumbling once face first into her own vitae, for the bloody kitchen knife. The weapon used to render her thus, see how she slices into her chest ripping flesh until it goes deep into the lung to let that accumulated blood drain so it runs like a crimson river down her.
Her brutal methods would kill a lesser being, but we can assume this immortal may well have done this macabre version of first aid many times before. Yet even so, one must marvel at the mind able to keep itself in the face of this torment.

Her task done she collapses once again into that shallow pool, with a sickly splash her strength fails her for now leaving her wheezing and sobbing. With the immediate threat of a second death staved off she allows her cursed vessel to restore itself, perhaps she sinks into some blank state of mind to weather this.

Perhaps this is just wishful thinking.

To her the time spent laying immobile surrounded by her own gore must seem like a life time, even to one as endless as her, but as outside observers we will notice but the passing of at the most ten to fifteen minutes. Eventually the bloodied girl rolls over onto her back, the stab wounds on her body smaller now but by no means closed, where she continues to wheeze as she fight to hold onto what we call for lack of a better term her "life".

But she will not stay as such for long, the pain lessens only slightly but it is enough for with her iron will to begin thought again. She begins to recall the events that lead up to this moment; how her anger was riled up by that man, how she could stand no more and rose against him, how he struck her down.

How she killed him in return.

She panics, see how the process of her thinking has lead her to believe that she has murdered her murderer. But she considers her crime greater than his, the loss of a life means nothing to her as she has recklessly thrown it away in the past and she has also taken the life of one just like her. Yet to kill one without that advantage, would be unforgivable. The perceptive of us will see how the tears run down her pale and lovely face as she is now racked with guilt over her brash actions, the torment her senses gave her are nothing compared to this hell. Those precious drops that fall from her eyes are like prayers for that man's soul, he would cherish them if he knew.

Yet even through the fog of pain and the tears of guilt the immortal girl Mouku is observant, see how she suddenly stops her deluge and assumes a very intent expression? If we listen closely with her we can hear the faint panting of a man some where in the house.

Hope, that is what shines through the moisture in her eye, that is what drives her to drag her dessicated body through the house towards the source of that sound. Trailing blood behind her as she crawls on her belly, like an obscene slug, she grits her teeth to ignore her pain in order to find that voice.

Once again the illusions of pain will make her believe she struggled on for an eternity, but we the casual observer know better than that. Within but a few scant minutes hardly worth measuring she stumbles onto the location of her target.

There, stomach charred like the remains of a log from a long spent fire, is the man who wounded her.
The man she tried to kill.
He has collapsed into a heap by the bath his eyes wide with shock, unable to recognize his surroundings. Look at his hands, notice how they are blackened as if covered in soot? In an attempt to preserve his life the fool grasped at whatever ointment he could find and rubbed it into the burn, by the look of his condition he acted hastily and will not have long to live.

"Don't you fucking dare die!"

The words are forceful but weak, the air intended for speech leaks out of the punctured lung bubbling the blood seeping out of her. Scrabbling desperately on the slippery tiles she pull herself over to the recumbent figure, the screeching sound alerts her to the fact that she still clutches onto the knife as it scrapes against the floor. Disgusted she throws it from her, albeit feebly sending it only a few inches away.

The man barely stirs at her presence, he is too far gone to see the world around him as his breathing becomes shallow and slow. With great difficulty Mouku manages to be by his side and caress that dying face weakly.

"Please." She sobs. "Please don't die, I'm sorry. I take it back, please let me take it back!"

But we all know her quiet frantic begging will not revive the passing man, soon he shall be rewarded the eternal sleep that she is denied.

"You can't die! If you die I'll go all the way to hell and drag you back! It'll be worse for you, so just don't die like this! Please!"

Her shaky hands grab pathetically at his clothes trying to shake him, but she has not the strength to move him nor he the life left to respond. The flickering spark of his soul is like a candle in the wind as we watch it dim in his eye.

Afraid but left no other choice, Mouku is forced to make a decision of the utmost magnitude. In order to save his life, to "take it back" she must offer him the one thing she has that will save him. It is a simple task, not much worse than draining one's lungs of blood with a kitchen knife.

Yes, the kitchen knife. That will do the task nicely.