AN: Welcome to Hounds and Jackals, the sequel to Who is This Girl? If you haven't read that, this won't make any sense, so it might be a good idea to go and check that out first. If you have read WiTG, hi again! Sorry for the slight delay, but I hope you enjoy the start to this second story. It's very short, but the next ones are longer.
Oh and just a note: Hounds and Jackals is an ancient Egyptian game where two players race, get rewards and avoid penalties, and try to capture each other's pieces in order to win. It's a game of luck and skill.
Have fun, and please leave comments!
It was strange to hear music coming from a cemetery. Not loud, but still audible, the notes spread out over the tombstones, filling the air with a slightly wistful but compelling tune. In the back left corner of the plain, a girl stood silently in front of a relatively new grave. Grass had already grown over the packed earth, but the plot was still obviously recent. The stone was clean and glossy, free of moss and fingerprints, and the residue of rain. The name stood out clear against its marble backdrop.
There was no apparent source for the music, although it seemed to be coming from the girl. If one listened closer, however, there did seem to be a source- a thin, metallic silver bracelet grasped in the girl's hands. Completely non-descript, the bracelet matched the girl, wrapped in a plain grey sleeveless dress. The only notable feature rested in her hair, long golden locks laced with flecks of glitter that a passerby would assume came from a sprayable can.
The song continued on, the singer's light voice speaking of old cities full of tombstones and the necessity of chasing the sun. A fitting song for a graveyard. At last, it drew to a close, the woman's final words fading into silence. Without a word, the girl slipped the bracelet onto her wrist. She made to take a step forward, then paused. After a slight stutter, she nodded to the tombstone and spun on her heel. With the grace of a dancer, she wound through the grave markers, occasionally resting a hand against one as if saying hello to a friend. With a final pat, she reached the cemetery's gate. The archway rose high above her, the wrought iron twisting through and around itself. She passed a solemn glance at the heart on the top of the arch before sweeping her gaze over the marble blocks one last time. Still silent, she stepped out, dissolving into mist as soon as she touched the street.
At the top of the arch, a tiny black dot lay innocently imbedded in the heart. And in a SHIELD building in Tennessee, Fury crossed his arms and narrowed his eye, considering the feed from a cemetery in New York.