Board Thread:Roleplaying/@comment-25828117-20160112193412/@comment-5583506-20160123050245

Kriegz decided to stay low for a while to get rid off the ghouls, blending in with the enviroment. If there was one thing he had learned from ghouls it was that they had the most shittiest eyesight in the Wasteland.

Evangeline was still barely conscious, mumbling something incoherent about her parents.

"But she will be alright? Won't she?"

Evangeline couldn't see her mother, but she could hear her voice. And somehow that was even worse. It sounded almost as if it had been torn apart by anxiety and sadness.

"I will do my best to tend to her", said Overseer Ridgemont and clapped the girl assuringly on the shoulder.

Evangeline just sat their in her wheelchair. Her white, dead eyes staring out at the black emptiness that was in front of her. Her entire body seemed to have given up the will to carry on, as she sat there, her every muscled relaxed and unwilling to move an inch. She didn't even respond when spoken to, still in shock after the event that had occurred in the church.

"Did she..." Her father's voice struggled to remain steady, but faltered as an occasional sob managed to find its way through his speech. "Did she suffer much? Did they do anything..." He gasped for air. "Did they force themselves on her?"

Minerva Ridgemont's grip around Evangeline's shoulder tightened. "I... uhm... inspected her. She remains untouched. Though I cannot tell if they exposed her to some other sort of evil than whatever caused her to lose her sight."

Evangeline didn't want to hear it. She didn't want to have it confirmed over and over that she was blind. She knew that she was. She would never be able to see again. She would be left in this darkness, only having the imagery of that smiling priest before her eyes for as long as she lived. And the words that he had said to her. That she was "chosen". Chosen for what? To become blinded?

She would have cried if she could, but instead she just sat there. Completely apathetic. Listless... If people hadn't noticed that she was breathing, or felt on her chest that her heart was still beating, they might have mistaken her for dead. Maybe she was? Who truly knew what it was like being dead? Maybe this was some sort of afterlife in which she could only hear the voices of those she had cared about in life?

"There is a man coming in from CIT tomorrow", said Minerva with her raspy voice. "I contacted him as soon as it was confirmed and he says that he might be able to help. Said that he was working on some sort of project that might very well help dear Evangeline here."

"She... she will be able to see again?" asked Evangeline's mother.

"He said that he couldn't promise anything and that the project will at most take one maybe two years to complete. He needs to check in with Evangeline frequently in order to best judge on how to proceed with her current status."

"Do what you can for her, Overseer", said her father. She then felt him approach her wheelchair, kneeling before her and putting an affectionate hand on her own, squeezing it tightly. "And you hang in there, sweetheart. Your mother and I have been assigned to the western headquarters. But we will keep in touch in whatever way we possibly can, alright?"

He kissed her hand. "I wish I didn't have to leave, sweetie. Not when you are in this condition. I just pray that we will be able to see each other again."

''Please, don't leave me... ''she thought, still in her paralysed state.

"I will send letters as often as I can, Eva", said her mother and gave her a firm embrace. "You just... try to get better, okay? I need you. I couldn't possibly think of losing you."

Don't go...

She remembered very little of what happened afterwards, yet recalled her parents calling out to her in the distance, bidding her farewell before Minerva turned the wheelchair around and rolled her back inside the old restored parish house. Her incapacity of hugging them back, telling her that she loved them, and saying goodbye, reminded her all too well of the title of an old pre-war short story by Harlan Ellison that Minerva had kept in her bookshelf.

I have no mouth, and I must scream...