I'm not like him
By MissHerondale2250
She ducked though the chain-link fence, her silvery-blonde hair whipping through the wind, her midnight blue eyes wide with fear, her black knee-length dress pasted to her body with sweat. One of the thin straps that held it up had snapped during the fight to get out, and it was slowly slipping down. She impatiently pushed it back up and kept running. The cold wind blew against her bare skin near her ribcage and lower back, where her clothing had been torn.
If she tried to tune out the sound of her black converse sneakers slapping against the ground, she could hear the scratching of claws against pavement, but it seemed to stop as soon as she got through the fence.
She looked back at the beasts she was running from, their tar black skin oozing a greenish sludge, mouths all over their heads dripping red saliva, their brownish yellow teeth rotating around. She let out another shriek before bolting down to the Old Hallows church.
The place was abandoned, had been for years. You could tell by the ivy covered towers, by the smashed in windows, by the various stains and smells and the way every gargoyle and blank headstone looked as if it would fall apart under the slightest of touches.
She sprinted down the weed-ridden pathway to the abandoned church, the slowly decaying gargoyles eyes seemed to follow her as she went. She soon reached a heavy oak door. She went to pound on it with her fists, only to have it spring open under her touch.
She ducked inside the dusty corridor, her loud footsteps now silenced by the thick, red velvet carpet. Matching curtains hung from stained glass windows, which were draped in cobwebs. Identical wooden benches lined the sides of the room, and what looked like an antique elevator sat to one side. She could faintly see a set of rickety old stairs in the distance, as well and many doors.
The heavy door slammed shut behind, snapping her out of her reverie and making her jump. She leaned back against it and slid down the polished wood until the softly hit the floor. How did this happen? She thought. She was only twelve, merely a child, and she had bolted from her father's home.
Long story short, she had wandered into a room in the monstrous house, saw her father standing by a strange design on the hard timber floor. Those beasts were there too. The memory kept replaying over and over again in her head.
"Here she is," he had said "My little princess. If you can get me a meeting with Lilith, you can have her."
She hadn't noticed the faint sheen of light around the design until it had disappeared, and the vile creatures skittered out. That's when she ran. She stumbled back when she almost ran head first into her father, who was blocking the door. He grabbed her hair and tossed her to the ground, effortlessly, as if she were a piece of rubbish.
"What do you think you're doing, princess?" He snarled in his deepest, most terrifying voice. He sent a kick to stomach, making her double over. When she was down, he raised his hand and made a stinging slap across her face, the red mark standing out against her pale skin. The beasts surrounded her, and one placed a grimy claw on her collarbone. It started moving the claw down, slicing open her porcelain skin as it went. She screamed and tears rolled down her face. She lashed out, kicking at the disgusting creatures until she was free.
Then, with all her strength, she stood up and shoved her father against the wall, kicking and kneeing him in various places. He seemed surprised by this, and she took this opportunity to run. She bolted down the glass spiral stairway, her shoes leaving blackish stains on the clear steps. Then, she dashed out the front door into the freezing winter night.
She didn't like remembering how she ended up here, lost, in this strange place, but not a single detail of it would leave her mind. She placed her face in her hands. She didn't know how much time had passed until she heard a loud ratting noise, footsteps and a male voice. It had the slight highness of someone young, though.
"Lost, darling?" the voice said in a drawling, cocky tone. She looked up and just prevented herself from gasping. He was extremely handsome, for a boy who looked about thirteen. He had ink black hair, and deep, dark brown eyes. He was quite tall, too.
"I'm Xavier," he continued "Xavier Lewis. Might I know your name too?" He took in her muddy, bloodied state with a scowl, and she blushed, the deep, rosy pink colour standing out against her white skin. An arrogant smirk crossed his handsome face, and she felt uncomfortable, but she needed help, and here he was. Much to her embarrassment, a silent tear slipped from her eyes and she quietly sighed. "Seraphina," she said softly, "Seraphina Clarissa Morgenstern."
