A/N: Hello, I think I'm on an angst routine, this was supposed to be a ClaymanxAkabane fic but I realized I'm not ready yet. Well, it's pretty obviously who this is from here. Anyway, please do not be surprised at her new power, I've been nursing that thought for some time.
Affliction
She stared at her hands, how this I slip this far? The crimson liquid stained her palms, dying it a grotesque red. She almost buried her face in her palms, and then she remembered that it would only dirty her face. Her newfound powers to release the hidden magic from art did nothing to suppress the utmost guilt she felt. This job, granted, was easier than the others she had faced where she could only rely on her control over clay and disguises. This time however, it seemed her fear and confusion had caused a trigger effect in the painting she was carrying. A bright light flashed and her pursuers immediately dropped their weapons, and screamed. Her whole world turned black and she fell to the floor.
When she woke up, she was surrounded by corpses and the stench of rancid rotting flesh. All this because I was scared, because of a stupid bullet, because my mask fell and everyone knew who I was, because I was, afraid. She thought, spitting out that synonym of scared mentally. That single horrible word she hated to admit she felt everyday. That single, cruel word had such a heavy, depressing impact on her soul, causing it to grow about 10 times heavier and finally causing it to sink further than the deepest depths of hell where she knew she did not even belong.
Mother, I was supposed to admire art, to save those poor master pieces from the dark, bring them to the light where people enjoy them beauty, to rescue them. Not to, to use them, she spat again. Mother, I'm sorry, I failed you.
End
A/N: Okay, so this is a pretty crappy story, DON'T BLAME ME! I was just sitting here and thinking of this other crack fic, then I went all angsty.