The sky was pitch black and the winds were biting cold. A spiky-haired novice fought his way up a hill. Drenched and drowning every second, he forced his lungs to take in air. He heaved his burden and took another step forward. But he couldn't; he fell on his knee. The cloth was whisked by the wind and the little girl in the novice's arms was left unprotected. The novice tightened his grip and forced himself up. Swaying, he made it up to the top, where the imposing figure of a small cathedral finally greeted him.

Supporting the girl with only one arm, he pounded on the thick wood doors. Shouting with rage, he gathered his remaining strength and punched the door. It swung inwards, not so much as a dent. He dragged himself in, and went pass the pews. Laying the girl on the floor, he glanced at his broken hand. There was a nasty scrape on it and new blood mixed the dried brown stains. A bloody drop splashed on the girl but still she remained unconscious. There were splotches of dried blood on her. The novice laid his hands on the floor. Something warm ran down his face contrasting the cold wetness.

"I'm sorry, so sorry..." he blubbered."At least here, you'll be safe." And even if he felt that he had no right, he planted a small kiss on her forehead. She finally stirred and her sight met a boyish face with red hair crying over her. She slipped back to sleep, feeling very cold.

"Who's there?" The novice snapped up and quickly ran to the door. Behind the altar, from the recesses of a wall, a door clicked open. Two young acolytes entered, one serious looking and another quite handsome. The blond one held up a lantern.

"I'm quite sure I heard something, Aster," one said.

"I know, Wings, I've got ears!", his companion spat out. "Who's the..."

Upon the sight of the bloodied girl, the acolyte who cried out, exclaimed, "I'll call Father!" and ran away. His companion, a newly appointed acolyte, brushed up his blond hair: a sign of action. He was infusing healing magic by holding the girl's hand when Father came. The priest took one look and scooped the girl in his arms. Closing his eyes, an enormous ring of energy surrounded him. The acolytes stood back in wonder. The girl opened her eyes and the priest's smile greeted her. And finally, for the first time in her short life, she felt warm.

MINAMALAS-BEING UNLUCKY

Malas leaned against the dusty, brick wall, her eyes piercing the throng of people walking along the streets of Morroc. She waited, looking for an opportunity, a moment which to strike. Her chest was heaving, a sign that she was preparing for action. After couple of years, she still felt nervous. She didn't have a devil-may-care attitude or a smirk full of self-satisfaction or confidence. She did acquire a heart of steel and ferocity of a frightened desert wolf. Heat was beginning to get to her.

"Darn, it's so hot. I still have haven't gotten used to this ridiculous outfit." She slipped her yellow jacket a bit, the air cooling her shoulders. She closed her eyes and sighed. The rest of her upper body felt cool because everything but her considerable chest was bare. A tight black bikini held it in place and Malas wished that the rest of her uniform felt like that, cool. Her eyes snapped opened and dark eyes began to roam the streets again then quickly stopped.

"There!"

In one swift movement, she pulled back her jacket and bolted across the street. She dodged most of the populace so effectively that most felt nothing but a draft of wind. Her determined eyes never left the back of unsuspecting mage. "You're mine!" Her thoughts screamed. She put her foot forward and slid, aiming for the moment when the mage would hold out his moneybag. Unfortunately, the mage had detected her and at the moment Malas was hoping for...he swerved the other way.

"Damn..." was all she could say as she slid into the mage's coat. She pounced to the left, slamming into the magician's body. He toppled over with Malas on top of him, reaching for the moneybag. He roughly shoved her aside, stood up and began to run away!

Malas rubbed her bruised face and began to give chase. The people, who had stopped to watch their struggle, did nothing. It was too common an occurrence these days. One hardened thief even clucked, "Such effort for such a small amount."

"WAIT!" Malas shouted.

"THIEF!" the mage shouted back. He turned sharply to a dark alley and run in there. Malas slid once again, righting herself to face the alley. With a flash, she had her daggers out and dashed after him. She could see a silhouette of a person so she pulled herself and began her threats.

"Give me your money or..." She snarled but quickly stopped herself. Who was in front of her wasn't the mage, but a frightened boy holding large, moldy bread in his arms. Thunderstruck, Malas put down her arms and stepped forward. The boy responded with a frightened wail and fell backward.

"Hold on, I'm not gonna hurt you." Malas said, her impassive face now showing signs of concern. The boy's face and shirt was smeared with grime and filth. His shorts and feet were no better. Malas recoiled at the sight of the large, stinky, looks-more-like-mold-than bread rolls. He stared at her with scared brown eyes. Her gaze fell upon his disheveled hair, it was hard to tell under the dust but she was guessing the color was brown too.

She put away her daggers and extended her arm.

"Here." She offered. The boy looked incredulous. Nevertheless he took it. Why? He couldn't tell you nor could Malas. Maybe it was the expression of Malas's eyes, a look of understanding of what his life was like. Malas kneeled and began brushing him with a mother's tenderness. He blushed with embarrassed pleasure. No one had ever patted him before. No one has ever fussed over him like her; she must be an angel (an angel with blonde hair and thief's clothes.)

"You should take a bath." She muttered, more to herself than him" And some decent clothes. And—"she eyed the bread with disgust—"decent food."

"But you never had that, have you?" She asked him softly. The boy shook his head. She sighed and took out a cloth wiping the perspiration from his head. But inexplicably she stood and ran away. The expression on the boy's face was like the face of a stricken deer. For the second time in his life, he had been abandoned.

"Whew!" the mage gave a relieved sigh as he reappeared. He put back the clip back into his robes. Thank heavens for slotted clips and Smokie cards! However, he was not thankful for the spectacle he had seen. That little thief had shattered the boy's heart! After baiting him with her goody-goody act, she's going to get up and leave? His angry thoughts were shattered too when the "goody-goody" thief returned with a bucket and a paper bag.

He hid behind a trash can and peered over its top so he could the happenings. She took out a sponge and dipped into the bucket. She proceeded to rub the boy's face.

A half hour later, Malas sighed with relief and pride. The boy was sparkling clean and had a fresh new cotton shirt that went below his knees. He touched at his freshly combed hair. It felt soft and springy. He shuffled his feet, feeling his new shoes grinding the ground. He grinned at Malas who grinned back. She plopped down on ground and frowned. She used every last zeny of her meager earnings to provide for this boy but it was worth it. She forced herself up and took the paper bag and towered over the boy. He looked frightened once again but she only thrust the bag to him. He looked inside and found an assortment of fruits and vegetables and...and... fresh bread.

"Well...take care now." Malas said softly. She was about to walk away when she felt something tugging her jacket. It was the boy, steadfastly a piece of her jacket. Malas tried to uncurl his fingers but he didn't want to let go. She kneeled down once again.

"I'm sorry; I can't take you with me." She whispered, hugging him.

"And why not?" said a loud booming voice.

Malas looked up to face the same magician from her chase.

"Because I'm a thief! What kind of life could I offer for this boy?" replied Malas as she rose.

"Then why did you help him? Why did you let his hopes up?" he challenged.

"Because I don't want anyone else to suffer like I did!" Malas shouted at the mage who looked taken aback at her outburst. She brushed away the tears that formed in her eyes.

"What kind of life can I offer him? My name...I am...Malas"

They stood in silence for a moment. The mage inched his arms upward and tenderly placed them on her shoulders. She slowly looked up to see the mage with tears in his eyes...

Malas

As in bad luck

Malas

With a deep dark heart.

Malas once again was watching the populace. Same old spot, same ole stare. However it was evening, and cool darkness almost completely covered her. She watched again for an opening but averted her eyes if she saw one of them. It was against her personal policy to steal from acolytes, priests or —She gave a small smile—mages. She couldn't steal from the people who had helped her or her loved ones.

The mage and the boy had left now. On to a better life.

"Make yourself a respectable novice and train hard under this mage, and when you're strong enough, come back and join my party, okay?" Malas told the boy.

"Yes, ate" he shyly replied.

To the mage, she whispered, "Take him far away and take good care of him. And if you're ever around Prontera, search for a Father Matthew."

"Of course but why?"

"Have the boy blessed. So he'll have the protection of the Lord forever."

"Huh?"

"Never mind. Just do it, kk?" She pleaded. He smiled weakly. How could he refuse this girl?

"So you say...Malas?" He took her hand in his and tenderly squeezed it, completely surprising Malas and making her blush. He grinned this time and made his earnest prediction.

"We'll meet again."

Funny, she never got to know his name. She rested her head, facing away from the city. There was a sharp pang in her heart, a longing for a life, a feeling. A little tear trickled down her cheek. She was reminded of him and the beautiful legend he told—The Cathedral of Angels Tears.

Why? he asked. Why would she ask him to go to Prontera? If only to know he's still alive and well. The man she'll love and cherish forever. The one who cared for her when no one else would. The only she'll ever want to give her all. The one she can't set her eyes on ever again.

Matthew