Chapter Text
Metaphorically, the term “blue blood” meant royalty. If you were to call someone blue blooded, you’d be calling them an aristocrat from a noble line.
But if you were speaking literally, saying someone was “blue blooded” was saying that they were dead.
Yes, Rue thought, holding the hand of some poor guy whose name she’d probably never know. Definitely dead.
The victim was certainly not royalty. He was plain and simple, wearing a well worn shirt with some kind of superhero that Rue didn’t quite recognize. Clearly, he hadn’t been dressed for a burial yet.
She gingerly held the handle of a small, silver throwing knife between two fingers, holding it above the bleeding pulse point of the dead boy’s wrist. A wrist that was bleeding blue. Dark blue blood, thicker than normal blood, almost like the consistency of syrup.
Rue swallowed, trying not to cringe at the unnatural looking color. She’d done this so many times she’d lost count, yet she’d never get used to the chill that ran down her spine, the way her head throbbed— not with pain, but with a clear message.
You have dishonored the gods. You will not make it into paradise. They may not know it was you today, but once your time had come and you stand before the judges of the damned, they will surely see through you.
A shudder ran down Rue’s spine. See through her.
She shook off the thought. Sure, it was true. Didn’t mean she liked to think about it.
Rue could see her breath in the morgue freezer as she painstakingly waited for the blood to flow into the empty vial that she had pressed right up against the boy’s skin. She tried not to think about how he looked so much younger than her. He couldn’t have been younger than ten, and that was worse. What if he was just so happened to be tall for his age?
He could’ve been younger.
For her own sake, Rue told herself that he could’ve also been older than her. It was a bit easier to think that he lived longer than she had.
Not like it matters, she thought through her own shivering, pulling away the vial, despite it being only half-full. I wasn’t the one to kill him. It shouldn’t bother me.
Like normal blood, the color lightened the more it spread out. And as she tilted the vial this way and that, the blood smeared across the side, revealing it to be a bright, ultramarine blue.
A small wire hook protruded from the stopper of the vial, and she clasped it onto the hem of one of her dress pockets. She didn’t bother with the puncture she left on the young boy’s wrist. After all, that was what blue blood was for. To heal the body’s wounds after death, so the soul could make a peaceful trip into the afterlife.
Instead of the singular units being kept cold, the entire morgue freezer was kept freezing, making Rue finally button up the thick denim jacket she’d been wearing, flipping up the collar as she gingerly slid the body back into it’s place in the small unit, closing the door with a soft click.
Her breath fogged the metal of the door as she reverse-picked the lock to re-lock it. It was a small detail that was crucial. If someone more on the… incompetent side were to try and take the body to prepare it for the funeral, they would’ve brushed off the unlocked door as them simply forgetting to lock it. But if someone any smarter had noticed it, it could’ve raised some questions.
Rue hated when people asked questions. And she hated when adults went poking around. It always caused her trouble.
Rue tested the door. Locked. She stood up, her knees grateful to no longer be pressed into the cold floor. She adjusted the brown denim jacket one more time, making sure her dark hair had tucked itself into the collar before she slipped the silver picks into the inside pocket of her jacket.
The funeral home outside of the morgue freezer was beautiful. Pews had intricate carvings on the wooden armrest. The memory table was overflowing with tall, unmelted candles that from the looks of it, were new, and hadn’t once been lit. Carnations and chrysanthemums and red poppies occasionally popped up among the sea of white lilies. Old possessions that must have once belonged to the body in the freezer were meticulously placed around. Old Marvel comic books and vinyls, and a thick book, which looked to be a photo album, sat heavy in front of a photograph that Rue couldn’t bring herself to look at. The face of the dead soul she’d disgraced.
The memorial table was a reminder of the passed, of the departed. The room was still and quiet. There were no windows, only intense white florescent lights, making the room seem brighter, and Rue couldn’t help but feel like she was in a hospital room. Asides from Rue, the place remained undisturbed and serene.
It was the girl standing in front of the table, figurine in hand, that ruined the image.
Rue didn’t even see her at first. With her long, wispy white hair, silk white cowl, and unnaturally pale skin, she almost perfectly blended in with the mostly white funeral home. If it weren’t for the girl sniffling, she might’ve never been aware of her.
Rue’s eyes snapped to attention, finally focusing on the girl standing in front of the table. Rue stepped back, the hard soles of her shoes making her presence very obvious. The snow girl’s head snapped up, and she whirled around to look at Rue, her eyes wide in shock, until it morphed into outrage. Rue hardly had time to blink before the girl was suddenly right up in her face, one of the girl’s hands gripping Rue’s wrist, the other holding a strange, six-point, star-shaped weapon in front of her face.
“Who are you?” The girl interrogated harshly. Rue’s wrist suddenly felt cold where the girl was holding it. “I don’t remember you from any family gathering! Why are you at my brother’s funeral?”
The cold coming from the snow girl was almost painful now. Like ice being held on skin for too long. Rue, who had been too stunned from the girl seemingly appearing in front of her out of nowhere, finally shook her head and grunted, trying to pull herself out of the stranger’s grip. She’d been doing this for two years, since she was ten. No way was she going to be caught now.
As if reading her mind, the girl started up again. An iron grip on Rue’s wrist, she pulled her forward, making Rue fumble for solid ground. “Tell me! Now! Or I’ll call the police!” She warned, pushing one of the points on her weapons dangerously close to between Rue’s eyes.
The threat of human authorities being involved made Rue start to panic. “Stop!” She blurted. She could feel her wrist going numb. The sound of Rue’s own voice made her flinch. She had broken one of the rules. Don’t talk while on the job. She wasn’t supposed to let anyone hear her voice.
Rue mentally ran a checklist of her mistakes. She got noticed when she was supposed to be invisible, she spoke while out on a mission, (and worse, the girl would remember her voice, too) and now, just to add insult to injury, this loudmouthed freak was going to call the cops if she didn’t get out of here.
Now that the girl was so close, she could see that her eyes were a pale, ice blue, framed by thick, white lashes. The girl’s eyes and cheeks were red from crying, and Rue could see tear streaks on her face. Though, she found it hard to feel bad, seeing as the girl was slowly but surely giving her frostnip.
The snow girl’s body shuddered from her crying session being cut short. The point of the weapon quivered from her trembling hands. And as pitiful as she looked, Rue knew this was her one chance to escape.
She ripped her wrist out of the girl’s grip, lowered herself, and delivered a clean leg sweep to the slightly shorter girl’s ankles. The girl shrieked in protest as she went crashing to the ground, the metallic weapon clattering out of her hand. Rue kicked it away as far as she could, turning on her heel and booking it out of the funeral home.
Rue cradled her numb wrist, which had a thin layer of frost over it, somehow. She blew onto it, trying to get to warm air to thaw it somewhat. Rue didn’t stop to look back as she shoved open the heavy doors of the funeral home, but she could’ve sworn she’d heard a despairing sob from the girl behind her.