Amelia picks up the letters on Marion’s floor and looks at them. Her dark eyes face his after she flips through them, scanning their contents all the while.
“Really, Marion? Do you even know this girl?”
“Mother…”
“Answer the question, boy!”
“I…”
“Go to your room.”
Marion flips Amelia the bird, and she slaps him. Marion rolls his eyes before continuing to his room and laying down on his bed, his cell phone in his hand. She had already deactivated the service on it, and it was now just a pitiful image viewer. However, Marion was fine with that. He just wanted to see her face.
As he flips through the pictures on the phone, Marion sighs . That bitch! Why did she always do this to him. Always. First was his games, the second time about his friends Third about spending money, fourth about his academics, and now this. She was just as blonde as her hair, and her clothes looked absolutely stupid. Her face was a cacophony of makeup, and it revolted him. Mother or not, Marion had the extreme urge to walk up to her and just slap her until she sees sense.
Just because she doesn’t understand long-distance, doesn’t make her right.
Marion had met the girl he wrote all the time in a coffee shop while she was on vacation, and they hit it off. He didn’t know that she wasn’t local, and he asked her out. She accepted, and they went on several dates and became fairly serious about their connection.
Then she told him.
It had been a wonderful night thus far. He had picked her up from in front of her “job” and they went to dinner. They had about $200 worth of food, and he paid. He’d been saving his money for this night. They proceeded to go to a hotel, and the rest was history. She had him, and he let her take him all the way. However, his hopes were flipped onto their head as he lay with her, curled up to her warmth in the sheets of a soft bed. He professed his love to her, and she looked slightly guilty.
“What?” He had said, wondering if she was okay, if he had hurt her.
“Marion, do you trust me?” She whispered, and he looked puzzled.
“Of course!”
“And you believe me?”
“No doubt in my mind.”
“I don’t live here… I’m leaving tomorrow.”
God Dammit. That was his reaction. He pushed himself on his arm and looked at her.
“Really? Where to?”
“Home.”
“Where? I’ll come with you!”
She gives him a sad smile and shakes her head.
“You can’t. We’re not 18, and you have school.”
“Screw school, I want you.”
“Marion…”
They had sat up by now, and he faced her then, putting his hand on her cheek. She nuzzled into his palm a little bit, covering his hand with hers, then looks back at him.
“Look. When I’m done with school, I’m there. Until then, give me your number, and give me your address. I want to find you again. I love you…”
“I don’t know, Marion…”
“Please?”
“Okay…”
His remembrance ended as he reached the last picture arrived. The others were of both of them, but this was just her, it was of her beautiful brown hair, her slim body, her pearly skin. She was in the dark room they had occupied, and was clothed this time. She was in a black shirt that fit her form amazingly and was open at the top. She was in tight jeans, and she had a cigarette between her lips. She was lighting it with a match, and she didn’t notice him pointing his phone at her. He snapped the shot, and it was beautiful. It was his favorite one that wasn’t dirty. Those he kept in an SD card that he kept on his body at all times for safety and privacy. Not that they mattered anymore.
With that thought, his thoughts turned sour once more. He looked at his backpack, and thought of his diploma. He knew what he would do. He started preparations.
---
The wind in this region was cold, much colder than his norm, but he didn’t really mind that much. It was the next week, and he was at the PO box that he had rented. He opened it and found his school had mailed him the diploma. He requested it at school, and changed his mailing address, without his parent’s knowledge, to a PO box that he had rented the year before here. All his preparations were ready, and he walked home that day. He walked in the door, and slapped his mother in the face as she sat at the table.
“Screw you, bitch. You understand nothing.”
Before his father could come out of his office and with the yells of both in his ears, he was gone. He took his car to the airport, got his tickets and had left. They didn’t understand anything.
Now it was night, and he was there, at the object of his desire’s home. Luckily enough, he had sent his letters to a PO box after the first one, so they could not trace the owner. It was her neighbor’s. She was on her own at an apartment now, and he walked up to it. He knew, he had heard, and she had left directions and an address in his box. As he knocked, his heart raced. Marion would soon connect with his love.
The door opens, and a squeak escapes her lips.
“Hello, Jessica.”
She almost tackles him with her hug, and he smiles to himself and to her as he spins her slowly in the air with their hug.
Yes. Now that he was away from that whore, he knew it would be right.
Post by pterodactyl on Mar 16, 2011 20:25:25 GMT -5
Title: Traditionally By: pterodactyl46 Rating: PG-13 for slight suggestive themes. Spoilers: Not that I can think of? Summary: "Eat the damn candy, Spock, or I won't be your valentine." Disclaimer: This is fanfiction. I do not own Spock, Kirk, or any of the Enterprise crew. If I did, a lot more redshirts would have died, along with every single one of Kirk's women. Author's Note: Emma, this is indeed sucktacular. Now, I know that valentines can also be your friends, but I've changed the tradition a bit for the story. I also realize that Spock is a bit OOC, but he's OOC in all cute fluff, because Spock was rarely ever cutesy in the show.
Devices on the bridge beeped and whirred. The room was a veritable cacophony of sound, even though it was a quiet day. The klaxon hadn't screamed danger once since alpha shift's arrival four hours ago. The bridge officers were calm; Sulu went about his work, twisting dials and making course corrections as needed. Chekov was busy tuning and retuning the weapons array until it was perfect. He hummed along to the song Uhura softly sang, accompanying her familiar yet still eery Bantu melody. Scotty was puttering around with a control station, lying on his back and cursing in Gaelic every so often. The captain sat like a statue, having finished his log entry a few minutes ago. A normal quiet day of traveling on the bridge of Starfleet's flagship, the USS Enterprise.
The only difference on the bridge was Spock. The Vulcan normally worked nonstop, staring into the viewer or calculating probabilities or going over the test results for his latest theory. His work ethic was impeccable; he pushed himself to inhuman standards, ignoring his human feelings and pulling longer shifts than any crew member. Today, however, the science officer sat with his chair swiveled out to face the bridge. He surveyed the room over steepled fingers, assuming an almost meditative pose as he contemplated the scene before him. Mostly, he was just staring at the captain.
Kirk sat sideways in his chair, one boot on the deck plates and the other leg slung over the armrest of his center seat. His back leaned against the other armrest and his gaze bored into the viewscreen, contemplating the stars rushing past them. At warp speed, the stars stretched out like rainbow-colored spaghetti, shooting towards the viewscreen like javelins.
While the captain pondered the nature of spaghetti, Spock pondered the nature of his captain. The first officer took in everything: Kirk's relaxed posture, his brown eyes, his ultra-confident aura. Spock had always admired his captain's ability to insert himself into a situation as the authority figure through sheer force of personality. Although sometimes misused, particularly in Jim's many flings, that self-assuredness was so human that Spock could only find it endearing.
The sliding doors of the turbo elevator whooshed open, admitting Nurse Christine Chapel to the bridge. She carried a tablet and a stylus: medical requisition forms requiring the captain's signature. Her hips swayed as she stepped to the side of the center chair in her short Starfleet issue uniform. Even as the captain signed the forms and returned them, Chapel was shooting amorous, longing glances at Spock from under her lashes. She half-hoped he wouldn't notice. That part laughed at the part who wanted Spock to call her on her half-hearted seduction. Even if he did, what was she looking for? For Spock, dignified science officer, to sweep her up in his arms and spirit her away?
Leaving the bridge with hips swaying and tablet in hand, Christine shot one last look at the Vulcan before the turbolift doors swooshed shut again. Spock noticed that look as he had noticed the others: in passing, simply information to be filed away. The nurse had made multiple romantic advances towards him, but the first officer had politely declined. He had no wish to procreate at this time, nor would he procreate with a human.
Some time later, beta shift arrived to relieve the main bridge crew. Uhura, Scotty, Sulu, and Chekov quickly headed to the turbolift, which they directed to the recreation deck. Spock and Kirk stayed behind a little longer, reporting the past six hours to the officers now heading the bridge. Once finished, the two friends stepped into the turbolift together, doors swooshing shut behind them. "Recreation deck," Jim directed hurriedly, looking forward to getting his butt kicked by Spock in a game of three-dimensional chess.
"Belay that," Spock told the computer before the lift could start on its way. The captain gazed at his science officer curiously.
"What's on your mind, Spock?" The Vulcan remained stoic and silent, only speaking to direct the turbolift to the deck where his quarters were located. Kirk stood still in wonderment. In all the years he'd known his first officer, Spock had never been known for keeping secrets. He always said exactly what was he was thinking. After all, it was only logical. Maybe there was some Vulcan ritual that Spock needed assistance with? The only time when the Vulcan had acted so out of character was when he was under the influence of the pon farr, the shame of his race. Jim quivered slightly, wondering if, perhaps, the deeper wishes he had tamped down so carefully were about to be exposed.
The turbolift doors swooshed open onto an empty corridor. The two men stepped out, Spock leading the way, although Kirk knew where to go as well as he knew the path to his own rooms. Their walk was also comfortably quiet, with only the sound of boots against deck and the everpresent engine noise to mar the silence.
Having reached his quarters, Spock keyed in his entry code. The doors opened with the same sound as those of the turbolift, revealing the rooms of a solemn, meditative Vulcan science officer who...really loved pink? Spock strode inside, the usual unperturbable expression masking his emotions. He didn't seem surprised at all by the red and pink decorations adorning his living space. Jim, on the other hand, was flabbergasted. He had to remind himself to shut his mouth, jaw hanging loosely in astonishment. Spock's quarters were always decorated simply in subdued tones; the gaudy hearts were simply...illogical. Jim could think of no more apt word, considering what he knew Spock would say, were they in Jim's quarters instead.
"Spock...what the hell is all this?" A bouquet of pink roses was arranged in a vase on the table. Heart-shaped boxes of candy were stacked perfectly atop one another. As uncharacteristic as the changes were, it was definite that they were made by the science officer's exacting hand.
"Jim...out of all the crew on the Enterprise, it is to you that I am the closest. I have observed over the past four years that you are a lover of old Earth holiday traditions. Therefore, I am asking you to be my valentine, since on Earth it is the fourteenth of February." Throughout his whole speech, Spock retained his matter-of-fact, self-assured tone. It was only when Jim started to laugh uproariously that an expression of slight distaste crossed the Vulcan's face. "Have I misunderstood the ritual?"
Wiping his eyes, the captain took a deep breath to maintain composure. "Sort of, Spock. On Valentine's Day, you ask the person you are or wish to be romantically involved with to be your valentine. The role doesn't traditionally fall to friends," Jim explained gently. "Although, since you went to all this trouble, I'll take some of that chocolate." As soon as the words were out of his mouth, the captain opened one of the pink boxes and popped a piece into his mouth, offering one to his friend. He was unsure of himself: he knew what he secretly wanted. What he didn't know was whether he was brave enough to act.
Spock quickly shoved the uncomfortable feeling of chagrin away. He moved to join his captain, disregarding the embarrassment he felt at having put his friend in an awkward position. He shook his head at the proffered sweet, finding the consumption of such food unnecessary, as it provided no nutritional value. Kirk rolled his eyes and pressed it into Spock's hand anyway. "Eat the damn candy, Spock, or I won't be your valentine." The science officer's gaze flashed up to meet Jim's, wondering what his captain meant.
Post by dantieduurden on Mar 21, 2011 10:57:47 GMT -5
||Darek Von Cleft|| Give me strength to face the truth, the doubt within my soul No longer I can justify, the bloodshed in his name Is it a sin to seek the truth, the truth beneath the rose? Pray with me so I will find the gate to Heaven's door I believed it would justify the means, it had a hold over me Blinded to see the cruelty of the beast Here is the darkest side of me... Forgive me my sins ----- ----- ----- ----- -----
As the sun began to set on the human capital Carvala one could see the outline of a man sitting on the palace’s highest tower, saying goodbye to the setting sun that was painting the sky in all different shades of reds, yellows, oranges, and purples. To any who had the eyes to see so high up, they could see that it was the half breed who had decided to stay for a few days in the human city after the Gala misfortune. Darek Von Cleft was the mans name.
For an hour he sat there, unmoving as a statue, as the sun finally set, and gave way to the last day of the full moon. And the beautiful stars that were like diamonds in the sky. Throughout all of Carvala candles and torches were being lit, some for the braze souls that gave their life’s every night to protect the city. While others were lit for much gentler tasks. To the normal person’s view of things, the city was going to sleep. But to an elves view of life, the city was truly just beginning to awaken from its long slumber. As the wind blew in its first breath of air, the alleyways and roads, like the lungs of a mighty creature sucking the air in. The soft sigh of the trees as they rustled from the strength of the mighty wind. The scents of black baccaras, nightingale, and many other delicate and beautiful flowers wafting all around, filling the air with the scent that was so majestic, that not any single word could describe it in the ancient language. Angled ears listened to the trickling of water spraying forth from a massive fountain that was both centerpiece, and masterpiece of the lavish palace garden made of pure granite.
Slowly and gracefully the figure sitting on the roof top rose up from his perch, his muscles moving like a great panthers, and let his mighty wings unfurl from around him, blocking out the tiny diamonds of the sky. With the beauty of only someone accustomed to flight could give, the figure leapt off of the tower, tucking in his wings as he did so, and spiraled down to the ground. Letting his wings unfurl as he did a flip and a twist at the last moment, so that his feet that were clad in black leather boots, land on top of the fountain with a slight bow in his legs. His pale skin shining in the reflection of the moonlight against the water below him.
As Darek set foot on the ground in the center of the palace garden he could not help but stop to think of the events that had lead him to this course of action. Of all the wonderful things that had transpired in the past two days, and the friends he would carry on with him throughout his life, at least in his mind and in his heart. The night before lady Leilani had saved him from certain death, and had almost died herself, and then later had slipped him a note without her guard knowing. Asking him to sneak into her room and see her. And though he knew it was not proper he had anyways, and stood with her as well throughout the night until she was finally ready for sleep. They had spoken about there pasts and had gotten to know each other better then they would have been able to in the ball, and better then he should have gotten to know any women who was not already cursed like he himself was.
Today he had purposely searched for her making it seem like it was completely a random encounter in the many halls of her home. After greeting her, he took her strolling through these same gardens with the little child Awiti, that she had adopted and taken in as a sister. Four hours they had spoken about nothing and yet everything, even Awiti had joined in after a small amount of coaxing from the lady. He had enjoyed their company, and was sad when the sun began to become to much for him to bear without bursting into flames. And so he had offered to meet with them both later on, when he was once again able to walk in their bright world of life, and kindness. To his surprise and utter delight she had refused to leave him alone to the darkness and had brought them all to eat in the kitchen, where no sunlight could get to him.
As Darek pondered, not for the first time, all this. He plucked a rose and let the petals drop into the granite fountain’s water. Why was Lady Leilani being so kind to him when he could clearly tell how much her guard Sean disapproved of it. Surly she was already set to be wed t0o a man, never mind the fact that he as even worst then taboo to a human and there culture. So he knew it was not for any desire of any sort of relationship. And with those thoughts in mind he tried to say so in the ancient language, the language of truth and found that he could not. And with that realization came down the crushing despair of knowing he had taken a liking to the young woman, who was barely out of her child like years, and new to womanhood. Thoughts of despair, and reality sunk in, that not only could he never have children, but that he would never find love, for to find love only to watch it grow old and eventually die, while he stayed eternally young, though was fine to him. No women though would be content with that, they wanted someone to grow old with together and raise a family of their own. Both things that he could never provide a women with.
As Darek came to the realization that she would never love him, nor would any other women, not even Veela or Pele, he came also to realize he was extremely fond of the Lady Leilani. And that her rejection would weigh down on him for centuries. It was not love that he felt yet for her, but he knew that if they continued what they had been doing for the past two days, that it would eventually grow to love. “ I shall not ruin her life or put myself in anymore pain.” Darek said to the bushes of black baccaras in front of him. “ I shall go back to Ilirea where her family will not allow her to go. Return to my teaching, it is after all one of the few things I have always done well.” Darek said to himself, sadness tinting his voice.
With his mind firmly set on leaving he flew up to the lady’s balcony and landed, quickly walking inside so no one could see him. Once inside her room he felt like a trespasser on her private sanctum, seeing her asleep already so early. Indeed she was beautiful, Darek decided, as he looked across the room at her sleeping form. Peacefully enjoying whatever she dream of, her long beautiful hair tantalizing him from even this distance. As well as her beautiful skin, that though pale, was nothing like his own cold flesh. Quickly he drew his eyes away from her and walked to her bathroom to take the screen from in there and place it in front of her bed. “ A little privacy shall not hurt.” He decided as he placed it on the side of her bed, blocking her beauty from his eyes. But before he left he brushed away a stray strand of her long black hair from her face, back to behind her ear.
As he took a seat on the opposite side of the screen he wished that he could join her in her sleep, but due to both his strict sense of honor, and the invasion of privacy that would be refused to allow him to take such an act. If not for the fact he wished to tell her himself, as soon as he could, that he would be departing back to Ilirea. He would not even be sitting in her bedchambers, waiting for her to arise from her slumber. As Darek waited he began to sing softly of his homeland, all in the ancient language. It was both a beautiful and haunting song, and with the moon blessing him with her light it was a s if an angel sang to Lady Leilani in her sleep.
Darek had been singing of his homeland to Leilani for two hours as she slept. He never once stuttered, for he had the song memorized, just as he had memorized everything in her bedroom over the past two nights. After two hours his acute ears finally heard her stir, softly. Would she be afraid that he had come into her room while she was sleeping? Would she reject him and call for her guards? He did not know, but sitting in her plush chair on the other side of the room would do nothing but delay the inevitable and so he spoke up. “ Lady Leilani. It is me. Darek.” Darek said as he saw her turn from behind the screen towards the sound of his voice, her shadow cast on the screen.
----- ----- ----- ----- ----- The veil of my dreams, deceived all I have seen Forgive me for what I have been... Forgive me my sins. Pray for me 'cause I have lost my faith in holy wars Is paradise denied to me 'cause I can't take no more? Has darkness taken over me, consumed my mortal soul? All my virtues sacrificedm. Can Heaven be so cruel? I believed it would justify the means It had a hold over me... Forgive me my sins. ----- ----- ----- ----- -----
“Darek…?” she spoke to him, both worry and a small amount of fear he could hear in her voice and so that she would not be worked up, spoke up to her. “ Do not worry.” He said kindly like the man she had spent all day with. Then his voice changed, “ I wished to say goodbye to you personally before I returned to Ilirea.” Darek finished his voice a neutral flat tone now so that it would not betray his emotions. “ What? Why?” Leilani said as she shot up out of her bed at his words not caring for the cold of the night at the moment. As she looked to where Darek’s voice was coming from only to see the delicate screen from her bathroom blocking her view. “ I did not wish to disturb your privacy anymore then I already am my lady.” Darek said as if he knew what she was thinking.
As Darek told her he had placed the screen there to protect her privacy, a new question shot through her mind and quickly it came to her beautiful lips. “ How long have you been sitting here waiting for me Darek?” “ Two hours give or take.” Darek relied not missing a beat. “ Darek if it was so important that you sat here for two hours, why did you not just awaken me.” Leilani asked him as she got up and pushed the screen out of her way so she could see his charming face.” And what do you mean, you are leaving. I thought we were all having fun today.” Leilani spoke to him from the heart he could tell clearly from her emerald eyes that were so filled with hurt and loss. As if her world was suddenly being taken away from her, and this made It all the harder for him to tell her a lie.
Should he come out and admit he liked her, no. It would ruin her life if she knew and then he left her life forever. No he had to lie to her, but keep it close enough to the truth that he could say it to her without having guilt in his eyes. Slowly he lifted his yellow panther like eyes to Leilani and said simply. “ I am needed back in Ilirea, and I could not leave without saying goodbye to you myself.” Darek said trying to hide what he truly meant behind a shroud of smoke.
His shirt he had left in his room earlier, deciding to instead use his wings as a cloak now as he sat in her bed chambers. Plain pants adoring his legs. “ And I did not want to disturb your sleep, you seemed peaceful. If I were to have laid a hand on you while you slept and you had awoken you might have screamed for your guards. And for some reason I see your sword bearer especially enjoying killing me. Or at least torture.” Darek said with no hate in his words, just simple and pure conviction.
“ Don’t worry about Sean, I will take care of him.” Darek heard her speak and his heart reached out to her as she said this, but he could not let his heart win this battle. He had made a promise to Turin and he would follow through with it. Darek looked to Leilani as she walked towards him in a simple forest green v-neck dress. A sad smile on her pale white faces, emerald eyes looking to him, as a black waterfall fell down around her. Wrapping around her body like a second skin. Her hips move back and forth, she was like a snake beautiful and extremely charming to the eye’s, the worst part was she did not even know what she was doing to him. How much she was tearing down his defenses just walking to him. “ Please do not make this harder for me than it already is Leilani.” Darek said looking at her as she wrapped her soft and warm pale arms around his chest, his wings unfurling for her. “ May I write?” She asked him, her emerald eyes, so much like those of an elf asked him as they looked up to him, her body holding his tightly.
As hard as it was for him to speak the words he finally got them out. “ I shall not reply.” Darek said bluntly, as he made it a great effort not to take her into his arms, through his wings still moved to encompass her, folding around her body like a lover. “ When you are married I shall come back perhaps. But know I shall always be your friend.” Darek said, a tear falling from his yellow eyes as he speaks, leaving a bloody red trail down his face. He dose not want to leave her like this, he would much rather have stayed here with her. But he knew that they could not, even if he had not made a promise to Turin. It was forbidden, taboo even. And there was also the fact he could never grant her children. No he would not curse her with the life he had to live. He rather be unhappy and alone, then with her and denying her the world.
Darek watched as with a smile and a shrug she said to him with her voice like honey to his ears, " Well, I will still write to you, at least that way you know how I am doing." The kindness that came from her was physically and mentally stopping him from walking away, how could he walk away from someone who showed this much kindness to him after all. No female had ever showed interest in him, knowing what he was, yet Leilani still did. Slowly he wrapped his arms around her, letting his hands run through her soft black hair. " Please, Leilani do not do this to me. I wish things were different, but they are not. Do not do this to me, or you shall be damming us both." Darek said looking into her emerald eyes with his predatory yellow ones. " If you wish you can send Awiti there to deliver the messages. I can assure you no harm will befall her and that she will be treated like I would treat you. I shall not reply to any letter you write, but if you are to send a letter I rather hear it from the lips of someone who trust you completely, then a messenger who would forget your exact words." Darek whispered into her ear, giving in to a small defeat. " If you ask for more I will not even be able to do that, nor return to Ilirea for I know you can find me there. I shall go and live with the people who think of me as there god if I must to keep you protected from myself. I am a monster, Leilani. I am not right for you to be seen in public with, it shall give you a bad reputation with your people. " Darek said as one hand went to her waist, and the other to cup her chin in his hand. " Goodbye Lady Leilani. May Nyx watch over you and give to you the most precious gifts of a loving family." And with that Darek let his lips just barely touch her forehead before he let her go walking to the balcony and then diving out of it into the garden, flying over the bushes of flowers up and into the sky, the moon illuminating his flight away from her. >Word Count< two. Eight. five. Six >Tagged< Nayeli >Theme< The Truth Beneath The Rose *-*-* Within Temptation >Status< done >Comments<In the world of fantasy, there is no such thing as shame. Prey for me for I have lost, the blood shed in her name.
----- ----- ----- ----- ----- I'm hoping, I'm praying, I won't get lost between two worlds For all I've seen, the truth lies in between Give me the strength to face the wrong that I have done Now that I know, the darkest side of me How can blood be your salvation And justify the pain, that we have caused throughout the times Will I learn what's truly sacred. Will I redeem my soul Will truth set me free
Last Edit: Mar 25, 2011 0:33:25 GMT -5 by dantieduurden
Title: Cruelty's Heart By: Emma Rating: PG-13 for lots of violence and gore. No sexual stuff, sorry. XD Words: 4113, hot damn! Disclaimer: Anastasio D'artagnan and Myaja Kolbjorn are two of my characters who had a relationship and very brief marriage that was rather unceremoniously ended by Anastasio personally performing a non-consensual abortion and nearly beating Myaja to death. [understatement]She didn't take it well.[/understatement] Summary: This thingy recalls three of Anastasio and Myaja's past encounters- their first kiss, Myaja's first realizations of Anastasio's insanity, and the beating itself, interspaced during a reunion between the two in the present time where they have a brief battle on Utgard Mountain. Author's Note: Pter, this is indeed sucktacular. Also, I stole your format. =D I personally am not a fan of this thing, especially since I had to rushedly REWRITE quite a bit of it after my computer decided to be a jerk and delete mah stuff, and I prolly won't even win. Meh. Also, I put LOTS of movie references in!
---
Love is red, like blood.
It had been the longest hour of Myaja’s life. She was at the point where she did not even possess the energy to scream in pain, let alone try and fight off her attacker. She had lost all perception of time and placement- one second she was on her back, breathing hard, her broken bones causing her unspeakable agony, and the next she was somehow stumbling across the floor, propelled by repeated blows. Her only saving grace was that each strike hurt just a little bit less than the previous one- slowly but surely, they were being dulled by the pain. At one point, she realized that she had eventually passed out, because she opened her eyes to find the man she had once loved hovering over her, supporting her head with one arm and a hand on her rounded belly.
“I’m a murdering bastard, Myaja,” he said coolly, and revealed the wickedly glinting blade he held. “You don’t break the heart of a murdering bastard.”
Myaja was torn from her nightmare by a flash of blinding light.
She was sluggish from deep sleep but nonetheless forced herself to snatch up her katana from where she’d left it beside her and lurch to her feet. It was still black out, but the first rays of sunlight imbued the darkness with deep colour- not nearly enough to cause the dazzling light that had jerked her out of memories she’d much rather forget. The Rider keeping guard beside her continued to snore obliviously, lost in peaceful dreams. She didn’t deign to wake him up, and instead crept up onto the parapet. Myaja peered up at the entirely empty sky, and then down at the rocky crevasses far below.
She squinted; knowing full well that she couldn’t trust her eyes in this lighting. The ruins known as Ristvak’bane were high up Utgard Mountain, entirely inaccessible except by dragonback. It was pure paranoia that Myaja should doubt her safety here, among Grey Folk ruins and pacifistic reptiles. However, she remained on that parapet for a full thirty minutes, not budging, hardly blinking at the mountain beneath her. When she began to suspect that she had just dreamed up the incandescence, she reluctantly pried herself away from the picturesque view, and went to lay down in her bedroll.
And then there was a second burst of light- one that didn’t go away.
Myaja staggered to her feet once more, and froze when she saw something huge, leathery, and most definitely not a dragon rise up from the darkness.
One year to the day that Anastasio D’artagnan had been imprisoned, Myaja rose early.
Armour rattling with her every movement, Myaja carefully made her way along the mountain path, barely discernible amid the plants and rocks. Osilon’s multitude of disused mines had been converted into a penitentiary some centuries ago, and served their new purpose well- far away from civilization, freezing in winter and boiling hot in summer, it was a fitting prison for the wretches of Du Weldenvarden.
Myaja paused before entering, taking a moment to calm her already wired nerves and mentally preparing herself for the slime she would have to deal with. Not the murderers and rapists and drug runners- but him. She greeted the night watch as she walked through the flame-lit corridors of the mine-turned-jail, and then narrowed her eyes as she came upon the cell she had dreaded for the past twelve months. Not allowing herself to hesitate, she took the keys, turned them in their lock, and kicked the door open.
“On your feet, D’artagnan. Your time’s up.”
Sitting in a dank corner, far away from the other inmates, D’artagnan surveyed Myaja with half-lidded eyes. Then he smirked. It was promptly wiped from his face when Myaja, not about to allow him to trap her in another back-and-forth banter, snapped her fingers at the two wardens on duty and had him hauled to his feet.
She observed all matters involving his release- the interview, handing over his confiscated possessions, exchanging his prison tweeds for regular clothing (though she turned her back during that particular process), and finally, the actual release. Myaja personally walked him through the shadowy corridors of the jail, chin held high and refusing to look at him. However, she couldn’t resist a glance. Hair now washed and brushed, and in his tasteful three-piece suit, D’artagnan was very presentable, even attractive. Myaja ignored the inner voice that told her so, and picked up the pace.
“Eager to be rid of me, are we?” “I didn’t say you could talk, D’artagnan, so shut your mouth!” She leaned towards him, lips nearly brushing his cheekbone. “I’d have enjoyed seeing you swing, you motherless bastard. You must have big connections to avoid death row.” “No connections, madam. I just deserve to go free.” “You really are psychotic.”
The doors leading out of the penitentiary swung wide open, and D’artagnan shielded his eyes against the bright sunlight that rushed in. Trees rustled in the slight breeze, and birds chirped pleasantly in their branches. D’artagnan was obviously taking his time to enjoy the sights and smells he hadn’t felt in a year, which settled Myaja. She turned on her heel, about to head back into the prison.
“By the way, Lance-Corporal… oh, it’s Sergeant now, isn’t it?” Myaja stopped, turning her head to glare. “I appreciate your taking care of me.”
He held out a hand. The reddish orange light of the falling sun laid itself across the line of D’artagnan’s profile, rendering him absolutely beautiful. A dark demon prince edged in blood, he seemed. Powerful and majestic. Lethal. Silhouetted in the sunlight behind him as he was, Myaja could see the pleasant smile on his face, and the mischievous glitter in his eyes. She didn’t trust a man who turned on his own flesh and blood. She never would. But she was done with D’artagnan, and would never see him again. So she decided to relent- just this once.
“Goodbye, D’artagnan. I hope I never see you again.”
She reached for his hand, and was taken completely by surprise when he snatched her wrist instead, pulling her close. Myaja didn’t have time to shout or draw her blade as he threaded his other hand through her hair, gripped the back of her head, and pressed his lips against hers. By every right under the sun, she should have ended him on the spot, or at the very least attempted to pull out of his embrace. And though common sense and logic screamed at her to do so, something else, something stronger, kept her precisely where she was. The kiss was moderately forceful, but his lips were soft and warm. Myaja’s stubborn revulsion of the man kept her from responding to the contact, but her eyes fluttered closed. When he pulled away moments later, a distant sadness came over her.
“Just my way of saying thanks.” He bowed low, and then turned his back. “Farewell, Sergeant.”
Myaja would not budge from that spot for some time. She raised a hand to her cheek as she watched him go, desperately trying to hide the hot pink flush that had appeared there.
Anastasio was having difficulty with manipulating the coarse blood of the Lethrblaka.
He’d been lucky to stumble upon its wounded and dying mate further down the valley, as well as a clutch of eggs that he’d immediately destroyed. Taking over the mind of such an inferior creature had been child’s play- but the flow of the Lethrblaka’s blood, as well as its bodily functions, were entirely alien. Anastasio had struggled with the flying mechanisms for some time before giving up and leaving the controlling to the far more practiced human now perched on its neck. He was rather irritated at the Oracle Lucrezia had insisted on him bringing along- he hadn’t even bothered committing his name to memory. Anastasio worked alone, always had. As he felt the chill of Utgard’s high altitude and saw Ristvak’bane rise up in the gloaming, he called up to the human.
“I’m jumping over to the ruins now, so fly lower.” “Roger, Mr. D’artagnan!”
Anastasio loosened his grip on the Lethrblaka’s thick, leathery hide, and held on tighter to his precious fedora as the ground grew nearer. Soon, he could see the detailed crags of rocks and stunted shrubbery, as well as the half-destroyed walls and statues of the Riders’ decrepit Broddring outpost. He waited for the right moment before leaping off the creature’s leg, descending rapidly until he landed on a crumbling bridge, crouching down to absorb the impact. Anastasio held his breath as the ancient structure creaked under his weight, and relaxed when it held fast. He raised his hand to signal the Oracle that all was well, and heard the Lethrblaka bank sharply and flap off.
Standing up straight, Anastasio peered around the ruins with little interest. He was not intrigued by the outpost’s history- only the denizens that now inhabited it. And with one or two sleeping dragons afoot, he would have to be very careful. Stepping down from the bridge onto the much more stable ground, he began to make his way up a rocky trail that led into the main entrance of the watchtower. The wind whipped at his hair, now tied in an elegant knot, and the chill reminded him that this would have to be a quick job- and probably a sloppy one as well. A stickler for neatness, this irritated him even more than the fact that he required a human to back him up.
As he pondered just how many more of these little errands Lucrezia was planning on sending him on, a figure stepped out from behind the very door Anastasio had been planning on entering. He stopped, smirking and removing his hat. It was too dark to clarify the figure’s race or even gender, but he could clearly see that they moved with aggression, and clenched a sheathed, thin blade in one hand. They came to a halt just ahead of him, and Anastasio endowed them with a ridiculous, sweeping bow, one so arrogant he might as well have slapped them across the face instead.
“A Rider approaching the fight without their dragon? So you folk do have spines. Shame you don’t use them.”
As he spoke, the moon removed its veil of black clouds, bathing the mountain in silver light- as well as Anastasio and the stranger. He saw ice-blonde hair. Intense blue eyes. Ivory skin. She saw midnight-black hair. Piercing golden eyes. A lethal smile. Both Anastasio D’artagnan and Myaja Kolbjorn recognized each other at the precise same moment, and knew this by how their eyes widened. But otherwise, their reactions couldn’t have been more dissimilar. A psychotic grin danced on Anastasio’s face as he reminisced the Blue Divide, while Myaja’s face contorted with rage and hatred as she reminisced their son, dead before he could even live. A terrible war cry left her lips, and she ran straight at the man she had come to despise, blade drawn.
One year after blood was first spilled by the Blue Divide, First Lieutenant Myaja Kolbjorn ran through the war-zone that had once been the town of Moliva.
The spear wound on her right thigh and the arrowhead that had been embedded in her right arm had been crudely bandaged in a rush job. The energy for healing spells were now only spent on the most severely injured. Leaping awkwardly over the ruins of stone buildings and passing the stinking carcasses of humans and the occasional elf, Myaja did her very best to ignore her pain and focus on the one thing that kept her going this quickly- Anastasio. In response to civilian casualties all across the Plains, Palancar was sending his troops here to flush out the elves, and they no longer had adequate forces in the south to hold this front. Anastasio didn’t know, and she had to get him out- and tell him about the new life growing within her, discovered only that morning.
Myaja ducked as the sounds of fired crossbows and clanging metal sounded from her left, but they weren’t meant for her. A skirmish was being fought a few blocks from where she was. As she finally came upon the building where her fiancé waited, she stopped for a few gasps of breath, cursing the heat and her wounds, and then looked up. It was a house, simply made as all human buildings went, only remarkable for the swathe of blood painted across its wooden door. Myaja hesitated for only a moment, unsure of what waited within, but soon got over her uncertainty and kicked the door in.
It swung open on hinges that screeched plaintively. Myaja stepped into the cool darkness of the house, squinting as her eyes adjusted. It was full of clutter long abandoned by the occupants, but there was something else. The air was full of the tang of blood. She came to an abrupt halt when she stepped on something soft and wet, and moved her foot out of the way to see a disembodied arm soaking in its own blood. Disturbed, Myaja picked up the pace, heading to a trapdoor that hung wide open and leaping through it.
She barely avoided landing on the pile of corpses that took up most of the tiny basement below. She covered her nose and mouth with her hand at the foul stench- decay and bodily fluids and other ghastly scents- and looked closer. Humans, all of them- but not soldiers. Men and women of all ages in lower-class clothing had been maimed to death. The same look of agony was on all their faces, and their wrists and ankles appeared to have been rubbed and cut by the same rope. Myaja gazed down at them in utter horror and confusion. Why civilians? Why so many of them? Why-
“Does it bother you, Myaja?”
She tore her gaze from the corpses to see Anastasio kneeling at the very back of the room. He was facing a young woman, probably the only survivor of this secret massacre, who had been stripped of her clothing and possessions and shackled to a wall, as well as gagged with cloth. Tears made her green eyes sparkle. She knew she was going to die. Myaja came closer, looking at Anastasio. His eyes were wide, pupils dilated, and his lips and fingers trembled. That stone-cold composure of his had been cracked by pure ecstasy. Blood soaked his knees, and in his hands was a gleaming silver knife.
“What are you doing?” Myaja hissed, taking him by the shoulders. “Anastasio, how can you do this? These aren’t soldiers!” “I’m only doing what I was ordered to, my dear.” He traced one of the blood weapons across the woman’s bare abdomen. She whimpered. “Vänskä said-” He broke off when Myaja slapped him powerfully across the face, knocking his torture implement to the floor. “Don’t pretend this is out of your hands!” She cast a hateful glare at the knife. “I don’t know what the king told you, but this is disgusting. Not even humans would commit-” “You underestimate their nature. As you underestimate your own. Humans may be driven by low, egotistical desires, but only elves are capable of the most unspeakable of cruelties. Only elves are inherently evil.” “Don’t forget, Anastasio,” shouted Myaja, her eyes burning with tears, “that I am an elf! And so are you.” She took in a shaky, hoarse breath. “So are you.” He turned his luminous golden eyes on her. “Are you trying to make me pity myself, Myaja? If I was going to pity myself, I wouldn’t kill in the first place.”
He grabbed her hand, and with surprising, terrifying strength, wrapped it around the knife’s handle, keeping it there with his own. Myaja shouted a protest and struggled, but he effortlessly guided the blade into the woman’s abdomen, cutting a swathe through her belly. Myaja’s face was sprayed with blood, and her eyes went wide as the woman’s intestines poured forth from her gut and onto the floor in a steaming heap. The girl just stared at her spilled organs, wide-eyed. She was in too much shock to feel the pain for several moments, but then it overwhelmed her. She began to eat her way through the cloth, screaming through it, the most hideous sound Myaja had ever heard. She looked away.
“Don’t avert your eyes from death, Myaja!” Anastasio snarled, using his other hand to force her to face the human girl. “Anas-” “Look forward.” He spoke louder now, so his voice could carry over the howls. “Look at the people you kill in the face. Look at them!” He continued the maiming, working his way to her chest until Myaja could feel the thump-thump-thump of the girl’s racing heart. Knife tore through muscle, and the screaming died away. “And don’t forget them. Don’t forget. They won’t forget you.”
The woman’s death rattle was like autumnal leaves in wind. Myaja had been stricken dumbstruck and mute, and Anastasio didn’t bother to stop the knife slipping from her fingers and falling to the floor. He raised his wet hands to caress her cheeks, but she pushed them away, tearing out of his embrace and making a desperate bolt for the trapdoor. She only stopped once, only looked back once- and saw his cold and serious face watching her, eyes glowing uncannily yellow in the darkness.
Myaja didn’t stop running until she was out of that cellar, out of that house, back in the war zone- and would have kept on running if she wasn’t nearly crushed by a crumbling building, knocked down by the arriving humans’ siege machines. When she looked up, the first thing she saw was the tiny, motionless hand of a child sticking up out of the rubble, clutching a doll soaked with blood.
Myaja threw up violently before collapsing on the ground, weeping.
Anastasio neatly sidestepped Myaja’s thrusts, dropped his weight to his left leg and shifted his right shoulder to evade her strikes, and snapped into ducks to avoid her swings. Even though he was weaponless, he had enough training to dodge Myaja’s every move. However, he also knew that he couldn’t keep it up for long. He had just been released from a twenty-year service in prison, after all, and was more than a little rusty. She started to adapt to his movements, begin to predict them more easily- which she used to a quick, ruthless advantage when Anastasio leapt backwards, briefly leaving his torso exposed- and she lanced him with the katana, knocking him onto the ground. Anastasio couldn’t contain a snarl of surprise and agony as he fell back, clutching at the blade.
Myaja approached slowly, eyes blazing with unfettered rage. “Good to know you still remember me, Anastasio.” She reached down and violently removed her weapon from Anastasio’s chest, forcing another pained cry from him. “I will end your life as you ended our son’s.” She raised her sword for the killing blow. “It’s quite a shame…” Anastasio paused to spit blood, “… that twice now, I’ve failed to kill the same military brat when I’ve had her in my sights.”
He grinned again- one so sadistic, he appeared to have fangs rather than teeth. Myaja’s eyes widened, and she hardly had time to get out of the way as Anastasio buried his hands in his own blood- and froze them into spears. He knew that they’d made a commotion. His cover had been blown. But it was worth it, he thought, for this little reunion. Anastasio put his fingers to his lips and gave a high whistle just as the enormous figure of a dragon rose from behind the tower, red flames shooting from its maw. The Lethrblaka answered to the call, flying down to clamp Anastasio in its claws, controlled by the Oracle. He grinned down at Myaja’s shocked face as he rose into the air.
“Don’t fuss yourself that we didn’t get to finish this, my dear!” he called down to her. “There’ll be other times we can settle this. Sleep well, General Myaja Kolbjorn!”
The sweet taste of rage and bloodlust had subsided. Replacing it was satisfaction- satisfaction at his skill, his competency, his success in what he had just done.
Anastasio stood washing his hands in a crystal basin, curiously glancing at himself in the mirror, at the one mark Myaja had managed to land on him- a thin cut along his left cheekbone that did not hurt, but wept a great deal of blood. It struck Anastasio as odd that he thought of the trickle as weeping- like it was tears rather than the force that fed him. Passing a hand over his face so that the blood was smeared, he smirked as he realized. Long-boiling wrath had fuelled his blows as he’d attacked Myaja, and pure gratification in each bone he’d broken, at the skin he’d torn. But there had been something else in Anastasio, something that had only been awakened by seeing his bride in unspeakable agony. Now he knew precisely what that feeling was.
After all this time, Myaja meant something more to him than he’d believed. Well, well, Anastasio. Well, well.
That curious deep twist did not go away as he cleansed the last spots of blood from his hands and began to make his way back to the empty space of the warehouse. He was still half-smiling at the idea that Myaja had come to mean anything at all. Perhaps, he thought as he approached her trembling, sobbing remains on the blood-spattered floor, it was his genuine respect for her that had created this fondness. That utter passion in everything she attempted, that unshakeable conviction, that iron will. It was visible even now, despite being bound and broken. Her face was considerably marred by slashes and bruises, her body disfigured by even worse injuries- but those eyes remained the same. They were alert, intense- almost insane in their clarity, even as she cried.
“Do you find me sadistic?” Anastasio had not deigned to show any of his thoughts on his face. He kept smiling. She responded with a plaintive gasp, her throat too full of tears and blood to reply. “You know, Myaja…” He settled down beside her, lovingly placed her head in his lap, and started to stroke her hair, stained and encrusted with blood and bile as it was. “I’d like to believe you’re aware enough, even now, to know that there is nothing- sadistic- about my actions. Well, maybe towards those… other jokers.” She tried to look at the corpses that littered the floor of the warehouse, but the considerable wounds lacing her neck kept her from moving her head more than an inch. “But not you.”
Anastasio tapped her cheek again, but he felt his smile turn downwards slightly, become fainter, sadder. He gave a dejected sigh, glancing at the largest, and by far the most critical of her wounds- a large swathe he’d personally cut through her belly. And for a moment, he pitied her. Her womb was a void where something used to be- something once alive, now dead and gone forever. There was nothing to fill that emptiness, to take the place of that void. One of many fatalities in the result of his iron will clashing against Myaja’s. She would never forgive him for this. Could never. She was a threat, and even that soft spot Anastasio had discovered could not belay that fact.
“No, Myaja…” she began to shake even more violently when he laid a hand on her chest. “At this point, this is me…” he sucked in a steadying breath, “at my most masochistic.”
She wanted to tell him something. A word, a sentence, began to form on her lips, and he heard the croak that her voice had been reduced to. But Anastasio didn’t let her distract him from his mission. With an uttered spell, he crumpled her chest cavity, ending her speech before it had even begun. She stopped trembling and gasping, and for the first time, he felt the vehement pressure of death in the warehouse, and the looming silence that encompassed it. He sat there for some time, Myaja’s blonde head in his lap, unmoving, until he heard a pounding at the door. As expected, the murdered Council had been found by Dellanir, and she had tracked him down. Rising to his feet, Anastasio gazed at his sticky hands, unafraid of the punishment that awaited him.
