Hello, Fanfictioners!
This is what I would consider to be my first fanfiction. (My other one is a ridiculously short oneshot with two reviews. Heh)
I just wanted to thank candy4yourEYEZ for encouraging me to put this up. Thanks youz! Oh, and if you like Hetalia, go check them out! Amazing fanfics!
So, before you start reading my crazy scribbles, two questions. What made you click on this? I'm really curious. And just to get to know each other, what is your favorite sandwich? Mine is ham and cheese. Put lettuce and tomato and some honey mustard on there, and it is MARVELOUS!
And this story is probably not historically accurate. I will look up some things, but I'd rather spend my time writing, not finding what is most likely inaccurate information.
Disclaimer: I do not own Skip Beat or any of its characters!
Chapter 1
Rain.
It poured from the sky, like the heavens were attempting to reach the world with its tears lamenting what it had become.
It hit the dusty yellow bricks of Verona, pattering and splattering against the well-worn streets, dripping down the intricate and fine carvings etched into the architecture.
The drops fell down Juliet's face, making her appear as if she was crying because of her and her lover's cruel fate.
The rain also fell upon a cloaked figure, blending in with the crowd perfectly.
Yet he emitted a dangerous aura. Even though they were not aware of it, they gave him a wide berth. Something in their subconscious was uneasy, and they looked around nervously, trying to find the source, but never thinking it was the mysterious man directly behind them, face obscured in the shadows of his hood.
He walked rather quickly, like he was purpose-driven, yet still managed to stay out of notice. His eyes took in everything he saw, storing it away, possibly to be used later.
His footfalls were silent, despite the heavy boots he wore with greaves, a sign that sneaking around was practiced regularly.
The rain fell on another, also hidden beneath the folds of her cloak. She wore peasant's clothes, yet her obviously pure bred, jet black steed was suspicious. The coat was too shiny, the mare too good looking to be a poor man's horse. Such were reserved only for rich and powerful. The horse carried many saddle bags, like one was going on a long journey.
She was trying to be inconspicuous, but failed miserably.
She also had a direction, though, that she was headed, and she pursued it perhaps a bit too quickly. From within the cloak, her eyes darted to and fro nervously, as if searching desperately for something but praying not to find it.
All eyes looked upon this, and guessed she was a runaway servant. Though none tried to stop her, because everyone hated the nobles and reveled in seeing them put down. They were all corrupt in general. In particular, the highest of them all in this beautiful town, the family of Moratti. The lady executed many who had done no wrong. Whatever demands the family made, it was obeyed, because that was the measure of power they held.
She was headed out of the center to the outside, he from the outskirts to the center. It was definite their paths were to cross.
And when they did, his ever-observant eyes distinguished the rather noticeable figure from the rest of the crowd, and her apprehensively watchful yet oblivious ones glanced over him without a second thought.
He had undoubtedly brought her into his attentions, though.
He switched the direction he was going, still managing to blend in despite worming his way throughout the fast-paced traffic of the multitude of people surrounding him.
Several people behind her, he trailed her, carefully, with the practice of many times.
Though she was unaware of her changed circumstances, her uneasiness grew. She then went faster, running into several others. She needed to get out.
He fingered the cold smoothness hidden beneath his cloak in anticipation, the only sign of feeling in his otherwise frighteningly composed behavior. The adrenaline began to run through him. He knew this feeling. He knew it well. It seemed to possess him.
Her anxiety grew. Her awareness decreased with each second. She is soon only knew the panic that mixed with the burning sensation that was in her chest. It hurt to breathe.
They had exited the city, and were in the area with farms and such dotting the empty fields. She walked a bit more, and then mounted her horse. Her unknown shadow had already gotten himself a steed, a chestnut brown stallion with a tinge of red. It was very large, built for galloping quickly for a long distance, yet was nondescript.
She was going fast, very fast, and it invoked curiosity in her trailer. Why was she going so quickly?
She was going to tire her horse soon, no matter how well bred the thing was.
She was finally out of that tightly-compacted city, yet she felt no relief. She glanced over her shoulder, looking for pursuers, and saw none. Her panic-clouded vision could not identify the ominous man behind her, blatantly following her.
He observed all this, and fit another piece into the puzzle this girl was providing.
After awhile longer riding, her horse tired, just as he had predicted. It slowed down to a trot, and through the jolt of the ride, she scolded the mare, and urged it onwards. It would not go, too exhausted, and was clearly not used to going long distances on a quick pace.
She cursed loudly, and leads it to a small crick flowing through the vast, empty fields. She decides to let the mare rest for twenty minutes, and then would go on. She had to get out of there, and fast.
She began to pace with the anxiety building up inside of her.
He stopped his horse, and tied the reins to a small tree. He quietly walked to where she was. Unaware that someone is almost directly behind her, she continued to mutter under her breath.
"Have to get out, before they realize I am gone..."
He drew a long, curved dagger with an ornamented hilt from beneath his cloak.
He prepared to stab her, the knife just inches from her chest.
She stopped pacing, to take out her anxiety on nearby shrub.
Her horse, however saw the man, and was spooked. The ruckus startled him, and the blade went into her side below the rib cage, not hitting anything vital.
Her hood came off when he caught her, and her eyes widened when she saw the blood coming from her middle.
He took the blade from her side.
She did not try to get away.
The dagger was at her throat...
She looked up at the shadows that hid her potential killer's face. Her golden eyes burned holes in him. They were riveting, and accusing him for what he had done and was about to do.
He was riveted, unable to move. Those eyes trapped him.
He saw a chord hanging from her neck. Her eyes still on him, he picked it up with the tip of his dagger, which was now covered with her blood.
His eyes widened. He looked back at the golden fire, and they only confirmed what he had seen.
His hands shook. He could not, could not kill this person.
Some time passed, and he wavered in his resolve.
He looked back into those eyes, and he seemed to have lost control of himself. The dagger dropped to the ground. He let go of her, and ran, those eyes embedded in his mind.
She was suddenly aware of the blood loss, and her shock, both of which had hidden. A's her vision blacked out, she saw the retreating figure, and wondered.
"Why did he stop from killing me?"
Yes, I know, crazy idea. I got this-you'll never guess- playing Assassin's Creed! That game is so much fun, and this will have next to nothing to do with it except for a few things.
But did you like this so far?