Wings
Serena and Darien. He spent his whole life in peace, helping lost souls on their journeys, shame she was doing the opposite. They never met, but knew the other existed. Somewhere it's written that two soul mates will meet, one from either side, only, it wasn't meant to happen for another millennium.
First impressions have always been misleading, especially when they came in the form of a petite blonde. Second impressions tend to be much clearer, especially when you happened to finally see her black eyes, not midnight blue, not deep green, not dark violet, but black; empty, soulless eyes that had seen all the horrors of the world and were no longer phased by what they saw. I guess that's why the saying goes "never judge a book by its cover." Leisurely, she strolled through the bodies littered on the floor, the blood swirling around her black boots, thick and warm as it flowed out of the dead.
A silver sword hung from her pale hands, slicing through the surface of the rapidly cooling blood in preparation for any attacks. Disgust was etched onto her otherwise blank face, her black eyes roaming through the darkness, eyes seeking someone in particular. Movements in the shadows alerted her to the figure she was searching for and she quickly made her way over to him. Her black boots made no sound as they moved through the fallen bodies, her silvered hair streaking out behind her, pink highlights indicating her part in the battle as the blood stained her hair and caked on her face and clothes.
Her prey was huddled within the shadows covering the far corners of the room. His breathing rattled out into the silence and she saw the sweat travelling down his face in rivets, his hair plastered to scalp, clothes rank from weeks of bunking out in the wilderness. His hands came up to swat at the flies that were attracted to his smell and her nose wrinkled as she gazed down at the cowering human in front of her.
Humans. They scuttled around the earth, flitting from one situation the next, not caring about the consequences of the actions as long as they survived, as long as they came out victorious, even if everyone else suffered. And this one, the one that was practically bowing at her feet was the worst kind of human: the ones who sold out their friends and fellow comrades for a price; not even a good price. Usually for money or prized jewels or, in this ones case, prestige and protection from those who he'd sold out.
No sound indicated her presence to the man crumbling to pieces on the floor. Only the feel of icy finger tips lifting his chin up alerted him to the presence of another and by god was she a presence. Her silvered hair flowed freely down her back, part of it tucked behind her ears as if to provide the framework to her angelic face, only…… her eyes, they were completely void of any emotion, completely unlike the eyes of angels mentioned in stories; those eyes were filled with love, happiness and compassion for all. The more he analysed her expression the more he began to see through the misdemeanour that seemed to be controlling his mind, but by then it was too late. Her sword had streaked through the toxic air and severed his head cleanly off his shoulders, his once devious metallic grey eyes dulled as they stared blankly into the distance. With a sign she sheaved her sword back into its case along her spine and vanished into the shadows. No evidence of her being there as she returned back home into the darkness………………………………………………………………………..
First impressions have always been misleading, especially when they came in the form of a tall raven haired stud. Second impressions tend to be much clearer, especially when you happened to finally see his midnight eyes, not sky blue, not turquoise blue, not navy blue, but midnight blue; expressive, soulful eyes that had revealed in the wonders of the world and were all ways looking for the good in everything. I guess that's why the saying goes "never judge a book by its cover." Purposely he stalked through the bodies scattered on the floor, his eyes filled with the pain and suffering at the huge amount of life lost in this one battle.
The hilt of a golden sword was visible over his left shoulder, allowing a right handed draw in case anyone should attack. His white converses slowly inked dark pink as the cold blood soaked into the fabric, his eyes scanning the landscape for the one person he was searching for, dark blue eyes zoning in a the figure laying wounded on the floor. Kneeling in the blood, his hands went out to stroke the face of the dieing man, his raven black hair falling forward to cover his eyes.
The man was deathly pale despite his tan while he hovered at Death's door; his body was covered in blood, lips cracked from weeks in the sweltering sun. Cupping his hands and breathing into them, he then placed them over the man's body, a glow seeming to emit from his cupped palms. After a few minutes the man's eyelids began to flutter and despite his still pale face, it was evident that he was going to survive. Standing back up, he gazed around the battle scene before his eyes once again landed on the man he'd just healed.
Humans. They roamed the earth with freedom, never having to want for anything, yet they seem hell bent on destroying all God gave to them. Yet there was hope. Take this one for example: he was one of those pure souls that came along every few years. Someone who could and would make a difference in the world. This one was destined for big things, things that would once again tilt the balance of good and evil towards the sphere of good.
His head rose up sharply, eyes scanning for the eerie presence that had set off all the alarms in his head. Hairs stood on end as his body tensed in preparation for trouble, but just as suddenly it was gone and he could no longer feel the other presence. A presence so full of malice and evil, so condemned that everything around them literally withered and died. Shaking his head, he relaxed his stance, sweeping his eyes once more over the bodies surrounding him before he seemed to literally vanish into thin air. No evidence of him being there, only the warmth felt by a once dieing soldier giving testimony to his existence…………………………………………………
Again not sure if I should continue this so comments would be nice. Thank you xxxxxxx