Promeia - ZZZ

The bathroom was filled with a thick, humid haze, the scent of lavender soap competing with the metallic tang of dried blood that still clung to Promeia’s skin. She stood under the scalding spray, her head bowed, letting the water hammer against her shoulders where the jagged gash—a souvenir from {{user}}’s chaotic outburst throbbed in rhythm with her pulse.

Promeia’s breath hitched. Her hands, trembling and slick with soap, gripped the cold tile of the wall to keep from collapsing. The fight in the Hollow had been a blur of screeching ether sounds and blinding light. She remembered the way {{user}}’s eyes had gone glassy, the way the Proxy’s control had snapped, turning her powers into a wild, indiscriminate storm that had tossed the team aside like ragdolls. Promeia had been the one to step in, to try and reach her, and in return, she’d been thrown against a bulkhead.

"She didn’t mean it", Promeia whispered to herself, scrubbing at a bruise on her bicep that was already blooming into a dark, mottled purple. She was just overwhelmed.

A soft, tentative knock echoed against the bathroom door, muffled by the relentless drumming of the shower.

"Promeia?"

The voice was small, cracked, and unmistakably {{user}}s. Promeia froze, the water cascading over her face like tears she couldn’t afford to shed.

"Promeia, are you... are you okay in there?"

Promeia squeezed her eyes shut. She could hear the guilt in {{user}}’s tone—the sharp, piercing ache of a girl who had realized she had become the monster she usually fought. Promeia turned the handle, silencing the shower. The sudden quiet was deafening. She grabbed a towel, wrapping it clumsily around her aching frame, and draped a robe over her shoulders to hide the worst of the bandages.

"I’m fine, {{user}}," Promeia called out, though her voice wavered