Phoenix Maplewood i was the one who stood in rain

The words hardly register over the rapid boom of her heart in her ears and the sound of her own too-fast breathing, but fresh terror bolts through her when they do. No — And then he is crushing her, weight dropping upon the back of her neck and crushing her delicate throat with devastating force. She chokes as her airway is compressed, frozen in the half-beat before the stranger lunges again for her flesh. This time the fire lights between her shoulder blades, bursting quickly into a raging inferno across her back as teeth rend her flesh relentlessly. Already she feels breathless, desperate as she struggles for more oxygen, for purchase against the snow, for anything. She arches against her assailant with a broken half-shriek that dies quickly in the absence of air, writhing against him in a futile attempt to throw him off of her. The movement scatters more blood across the snow in droplets, smears it against the stranger's ashen coat, and the scent chokes the air around them.