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Cozened Indigo	By : Zellezra Category: Comics > Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles Views: 1123 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: The Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles and its respectable characters are property of Mirage Studios. I own none of it. Original characters are mine. I make no money in writing this story.

Chapter List
- 1-Reflection Dreamt
- 1
First, a bit of history: Medb (pronounced Mayv), is the name of the Irish Goddess of Mead, the name Medb means "She who intoxicates." Medb is also the wife of a king in the stories of the Ulster Cycle in Celtic Mythology. If I have any of this information wrong, please feel free to constructively inform me. As you can also probably see, I stayed up til the wee hours of the morning a few days back reading "Through the Looking-Glass and What Alice Found There." by Lewis Carroll. God only knows how I incorporated such silly ideas into this fic. Anyway, I hope you all enjoy the story.
A sober person would have panicked over such a bodily state, one wouldn’t even have considered leaning against the cold steel of the street lamp, pressing against the protuberant glass shards in her back. Although Medb wasn’t intoxicated, she certainly wasn’t sober. She hardly felt the glass blades biting into her back as she relied on the street lamp for support. She hefted her weight on her bum leg, the severed femoral artery spewing out what warmth was left in her body. No, she wasn’t intoxicated. She was delirious.
Her body was on autopilot; it was in dire need of something. The only thing to her name though was a mashed pack of cigarettes. With pale and shaky digits, she plucked a crumpled fag from the pack and flicked the tip of a bloodied Bic. The first cloud she breathed sent her body spiraling into shock.
The wind wailed a hollow moan as the frigid air caressed her face. Her glassy eyes cast downward and watched the sidewalk. Tiny shadowed paw prints appeared, one after another, strolling right past her and suddenly she heard a familiar old voice:
“Do you hear the snow against the windowpanes, Kitty? How nice and soft it sounds! Just as if someone was kissing the window all over outside, I wonder if the snow loves the trees and fields, that it kisses them so gently? And then it covers them up snug, you know, with a white quilt; and perhaps it says, ‘go to sleep, darlings, till the summer comes again.' And when they wake up in the summer, Kitty, they dress themselves all in green, and dance about -- whenever the wind blows.”
Medb found that she too wanted to go to sleep. The night was chill, and she wanted that white quilt more and more as each moment passed. The cigarette, long forgotten, died out between her white knuckles. The shadowed paw prints paused a foot to her right, and she stared to see if they would change direction. Indeed they did, the tiny trail leading back toward her. Suddenly she realized she was afraid of the approaching shadowy prints, but she couldn’t move away to avoid them. The white quilt was coming, and in her panic she found she couldn’t wait for that comfortable nap. Red and white chess pieces danced on her shoulders; pawns, knights, kings and queens, all except for the white bishop, who was perched on her clavicle, flipping through the tiny pages of an endless book. How strange, Medb thought, and reached a blood mottled hand toward the festivities. Her long black fingernails drew closer, thumb and forefinger in close proximity, prepared to act as pinchers to capture a piece. The red bishop witnessed the ominous thing and squealed in terror, rushing toward the black things to scrape at them with his crosier. The nail polish chipped away in spots, the tiny staff moving at a pace Medb felt was much too hasty.
“What the hell?” The voice she heard stole her away from the party, and she looked ahead with bleary eyes. Four figures stood before her, guised in cloak and shadow, each identical to the one beside it. “What happened to you?” The masculine voice was frantic and serious.
“I fell through the looking glass…” She stated simply, her tone a border between frantic and nostalgic. Another masculine voice, someone else, scoffed and took the slightest step forward.
“Are you okay, Alice?” The closer voice questioned, derisive and disturbed. A flash of green appeared before her, and as a cozy fingertip pressed against the soft of her throat, she leaned into the disembodied touch with a wavering smile. She touched the arm, her right hand sliding up the forearm and resting at the elbow. She sighed thoughtfully. This was much more welcoming than the quilt, she surmised. “Just like spring.” She said, and her smile disappeared. As her legs buckled, she could hear the squish of her shoes in the thick puddle of red below. She fell forward, the wind licking at her face. Suddenly she was suspended, warm green hands hooked under her arms. If it weren’t for those hands, she would have felt as if she were floating. Her eyes grew heavy, and as she peered past the shadowed cowl of her capture, she caught a glimpse of purple amidst the seasonal green. Her head spun and she realized she really was floating. Perhaps if this continued she would come out the other side upside down.
A cozy light weight rested atop Medb. She was stifling, but found it wasn’t an uncomfortable feeling. The faint buzz of a fan hummed in the background, and as the breeze hit her, she nearly froze. Still, it wasn’t unpleasant. Amidst her moist and overheated state, the cold, soothing rush of something traveled from the top of her right hand, flooding beneath her skin and branching out, sending a pleasant chill through the rest of her body. With effort, she hefted her left arm from its plush resting place. How heavy, she thought, the heaviest it’s ever felt. She blindly searched for the source of this cool sensation, and her fingertips felt over a long and narrow lump shielded by a slick film. She searched until the film met her skin and she gingerly tugged. She winced at the resistance the film put up, and without further prodding, she knew what it was and fancied a bag of saline hovering overhead, or perhaps something darker. She could have easily opened her eyes to confirm or deny her assumptions, but somehow she couldn’t will herself to do so.
The shuffle of footsteps approached her and the warmth of a familiar touch rested on her forehead, then, hesitantly, moved to caress her cheek. Medb turned her head into the palm and planted a kiss in the center, moving her arid lips to kiss each fingertip. It was the only thanks she had to give, after all. “Thank you.” She mumbled between kisses, suddenly sniveling. Her eyes burned and her sudden headache urged her tears forth. She hiccupped against his touch, and kissed again, still mumbling through her quaking voice; “Thank you.” She could have opened her eyes, and yet still she did not.
“You’re delirious. Go back to sleep.” His voice sounded gentle, passive and wise. Much unlike the rambunctious voice she heard before; “Are you okay, Alice?”
- 1
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