Omi's POV
The sea breeze stirs my hair. I look out at the world through wide blue eyes, watching, waiting, always waiting. The sea is a myriad of colours, the sky a tapestry of dreams, woven by the most sorrowful of angels.
" Ouka." a sigh escapes my lips and I run a finger through my amber- gold hair. If my dreams were part of that wonderful picture, part of the bright morning sky, they would be of her. Was she up there? One of the weeping angels weaving the sky? Their tears, falling upon their work like the gentle rain, crying for the souls of those they had left behind. On earth.
Images flash through my mind, of her laughing, crying, the vivid magenta eyes sparkling with hidden silver flecks. And of her last moments. Promises. Anguish. Love. Hate. Those beautiful eyes widening in shock, their delicate eyelids closing upon them for the last time.
I sigh and wonder. Is it time to forget? To move on? In my mind I wish silently for help. But in my heart, I know no one will. Because no one can.
* * * *
Silk's POV
I stand watching the others practice. I can't stand it any more. I'm not evil, not spiteful, not one of them. I want to be innocent. Not like Schreient. My long black fringe casts shadows on my pale face. Tears leak out from the corners of my turquoise eyes and I brush them aside angrily. I will not give them the pleasure of seeing me weak, vulnerable.
Captured, sold, forced to train and use my gifts to harm innocent people. Forced to join Schreient. They hate me. I know they do. The way they ignore me, hit me, scold me the minute I do something wrong. My hand travels to my ribs, where the bruises are. I miss China. I miss my mother, my father. Even though they sold me. They couldn't help it. We were poor. Or could they?
" Get your sorry little ass over here," Schoen screams across the room at me. I don't move. She strides over, hand on hip. I don't move. I stare up at her defiantly and I know that my eyes are an icy green.
" You little b**ch!" she screams and raises her whip. The first stroke is like fire. But I'm used to it. The whip slashes at my skin and my body is full of pain, of fire. But I don't fall to the ground. I don't beg her to stop. I stand straight and tall, the whip falling around me, streaks of red whirling. The others watch, smirking. But I have no intention of crying. They might kill me. But I don't care. They will never break my spirit.
The sea breeze stirs my hair. I look out at the world through wide blue eyes, watching, waiting, always waiting. The sea is a myriad of colours, the sky a tapestry of dreams, woven by the most sorrowful of angels.
" Ouka." a sigh escapes my lips and I run a finger through my amber- gold hair. If my dreams were part of that wonderful picture, part of the bright morning sky, they would be of her. Was she up there? One of the weeping angels weaving the sky? Their tears, falling upon their work like the gentle rain, crying for the souls of those they had left behind. On earth.
Images flash through my mind, of her laughing, crying, the vivid magenta eyes sparkling with hidden silver flecks. And of her last moments. Promises. Anguish. Love. Hate. Those beautiful eyes widening in shock, their delicate eyelids closing upon them for the last time.
I sigh and wonder. Is it time to forget? To move on? In my mind I wish silently for help. But in my heart, I know no one will. Because no one can.
* * * *
Silk's POV
I stand watching the others practice. I can't stand it any more. I'm not evil, not spiteful, not one of them. I want to be innocent. Not like Schreient. My long black fringe casts shadows on my pale face. Tears leak out from the corners of my turquoise eyes and I brush them aside angrily. I will not give them the pleasure of seeing me weak, vulnerable.
Captured, sold, forced to train and use my gifts to harm innocent people. Forced to join Schreient. They hate me. I know they do. The way they ignore me, hit me, scold me the minute I do something wrong. My hand travels to my ribs, where the bruises are. I miss China. I miss my mother, my father. Even though they sold me. They couldn't help it. We were poor. Or could they?
" Get your sorry little ass over here," Schoen screams across the room at me. I don't move. She strides over, hand on hip. I don't move. I stare up at her defiantly and I know that my eyes are an icy green.
" You little b**ch!" she screams and raises her whip. The first stroke is like fire. But I'm used to it. The whip slashes at my skin and my body is full of pain, of fire. But I don't fall to the ground. I don't beg her to stop. I stand straight and tall, the whip falling around me, streaks of red whirling. The others watch, smirking. But I have no intention of crying. They might kill me. But I don't care. They will never break my spirit.