Note: A little short story I wrote. Hoe you like it. Enjoy
Bold/Italic-Thoughts
Italic- Writing
Regular- well...regular
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For everything there is a season,
And a time for every matter under heaven:
A time to be born, and a time to die;
A time to plant, and a time to pluck up what is planted;
A time to kill, and a time to heal;
A time to break down, and a time to build up;
A time to weep, and a time to laugh;
A time to mourn, and a time to dance;
A time to throw away stones, and a time to gather stones together;
A time to embrace, And a time to refrain from embracing;
A time to seek, and a time to lose;
A time to keep, and a time to throw away;
A time to tear, and a time to sew;
A time to keep silence, and a time to speak;
A time to love, and a time to hate,
A time for war, and a time for peace.
Ecclesiastes 3:1-8
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Death's Prediction
Botan's POV
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Surley you do not assume I havn't a past. Surely you must know of my dark rejected life. No? Then please, listen. Please, explore the world I once roamed.
It's coming. I sense it. Who will it be this time? The air is thick with the promise of death. The dark night's silence is broken only by the ominous howling of the awakening monster. Yet, no one is here to listen to its vengeful wail but me.
It is coming closer. A long journey it must travel to succeed in its disgraceful deed. To accomplish such a deed, it must be silent yet deadly. Like the misleading snow. Snow. A beautiful sight to behold, however nothing so beautiful can be free of threat. Stay within the snow's tempting arms for long, and the price to be paid is dire. The snow falls slowly tonight. Such lack of speed, however, prevents not the thick blanket of white. Like a winter wonder land, the snowy layers drift over every inch of soil and space. Cars are cocooned under a chilling comforter of frozen delight. Children, as well, indulge in this frosty delight to their hearts' content. This night is dead. No space is spared, no footprint left uncovered. This night is merciless. A cloud of breath glides towards the window. Tiny frost flowers bloom on the lone square of glass, cold like ice, almost resembling my heart. However my heart as yet to freeze. Many times my heart has been tempted by the beckoning hands of solitude and lone escape. Many, many times. With a sigh of fatigue, or was it acceptance, I turn my attention to the window.
I gaze out the window; my reflection stares back at me, daring me to betray the expressionless facade I've plastered on my face. Dark locks of hair cascade down my back held within a clear blue bow. The bow gatheres strands of blakc silf together in a loose ball, the rest falling to the middle of my back. The shorter curls fall our of its nest, framing my face, my eyes almost nonexistent in the window. I've heard the rumors; they have yet to attempt hiding such words from my ears. She dyed her hair, she became a Goth, she's the reaper, her words bring death, she hates all, and her mind is unstable. My mind is far from unstable. In actuality, my mind advances beyond. Beyond even what I control. It reaches farther than any person realizes. It reaches farther than any human hand could even try to fathom to reach. Eyes of ice catch glances of scenes, in the future. In life, in the window, my eyes reflect nothing, except orbs with swirling blue ice.
Knock. Knock.
"Come in."
"Dinner is being served ma'am," announces our butler, James. I feel my head nod. Amusing how it seems I don't even realize my own actions. I watch James silently step out of my shadowy room and quietly shut the mahogany doors reflected on the window's surface. After one last glance at the desolate scenery, I glide towards the dining room. The walls are donned with regal paintings of family members and photographs. Each stares with ice cold eyes. They hold themselves with airs of superiority. Being blinded by your own ego must be difficult. Our halls are drowning in the musty wave of fifty-year old newspapers and ancient heirlooms that have not seen the light of day for decades. The stench of dried paint and rusted metal floats through the towering halls of this mansion. The rustic railing squeaks as I glide my hand down. As I trudge onward, my feet are imprinted in the thick carpet. I brush past heavy drapery, revealing a portrait of a woman. Never before has such a portrait been revealed. I pause in my steps. Her portrait is covered in dust, yet her beauty is clearly visible. Ice blue eyes, curly black hair. Sad eyes and a solemn face. Odd.
Large wooden doors loom over me as I approach. Pain surges through my head when my hand nears the twisting handles. Suddenly, my knees give out on me, unable to support my weight, and I crash to the floor. My sea blue dress fans around me as the capture plays. My eyes narrow painfully. Soon, the room becomes dark and I feel myself fall forward. The last image I see is a face, staring back at me. Her eyes burn holes into mine. A reflection of nothing other than sadness and emptiness greets my pain filled stare. Her eyes are glazed with unshed tears, glimmering in the dimly lit atmosphere. So, the time has come.
I gasp, jerking up as I'm shaken from my abstraction. I struggle to raise my unexpectedly heavy head to find a pair of ice blue spheres, identical to mine.
"It's coming," I breathe out. They turn towards one another; exchanging a look of dread. They face me once again; I see, as well as feel, their disappointment.
"Sasha, how many times have we told you to keep your visions to yourself? You know how everyone fears your curse! Don't speak a word to anyone about this," they scold me in stern voices, but I sense how unnerved they have become. My curse? Of course. Hastily, I avert my eyes. "Now, let us go back and finish our supper," they sigh. Hesitantly, I nod my head and silently follow them. They don't understand. Their fear has blinded their hearts, and so, this girl will cease to exist. This girl they have known for quite some time. Yet, they desired not the knowledge of her identity. I am familiar with this girl, as well. How heartbreaking. Tears well in my eyes, but I push them back. Crying will do me no good now. Supper passes uneventfully accompanied with insecure silence. Hardly any words are passed between us. Not a sound is heard with the exception of the clang of metal and rhythmic chewing of food. After supper, I pass the drapes where the portrait lies. I glance, unsure. After deep consideration, I am compelled to observe her once more. Carefully, afraid to ruin her delicate features, I brush the dust off the surface.
This portrait stands before me, yet I'm looking in the mirror, into a future image of myself. Her face is round, yet thin, her eyes are caked with mascara and eye shadow, and her lips painted blood red. Her features are highlighted in great strokes. All those precise strokes emerge together to flawlessly form her face and shoulders. One shoulder is pushed forward; gifting her with the mysterious appearance of the unobtainable. Her curls tumble down her back like velvet waves along with lone tendrils that have crawled over her shoulder. When glancing at this picture, my eyes are drawn to her most prominent feature, hers. Held within is a sense of power and wisdom as well as youth and beauty. Eyes appear to focus on me, and only me. Similar to the Mona Lisa affect. Intriguing. Her frame matches her beauty faultlessly. Its artsmanship is displayed in great detail. Apparently, she was an extraordinary woman. This frame is undoubtedly made of gold and silver. Braided gold bands wrap around the outer frame accompanied with gold ivy design. Tear drops of sterling silver encircle her; drawing my eyes towards her. Slowly, I feel the surface of her frame. Each etching, each cut is defined. No curve left unsmoothed, no band left unpolished. Yet, if such care was taken to create her frame, then why is she hidden? My eyes are drawn to the bottom of her frame. Inscribed in another piece of gold, is a depiction.
Selena D'Levant
Date of Birth: September 16, 1816
Place of Birth: Latinos, France
Great descendent of world renowned psychic, Carmon D'Levant. Ms. D'Levant was known for her gift of sight; sight into the future. She aided many and prevented the death of her mother as well as her brother. She was particularly praised within her family for her special ability…
Psychic? Is she the origin of my power? She was praised within her own family; my family. If this plaque holds true, why was I shunned? Curious how this is. Pieces of the future flash before me; ice blue spheres eyes widen. Quickly, my eyes rise to meet hers. Eyes that follow my every movement. Eyes that penetrate my very soul. My vision. They bore into mine. They were staring at me. At me. They were sympathizing and forgiving eyes; almost apologetic. Never before had such an event happened. Her posture, the manner in which she held herself. That girl in the cold carried herself in the same independent and self-respected manner. Could it be she? I recall my vision, she looked strikingly similar to Selena. Fascinating. Wait. How can this be? My visions paint death, yet before me it presents Selena. Selena would be over one thousand years old if she were still alive today. Also, that girl was to be another, someone alive. That was my original notion, yet Selena's sudden appearance may alter the path of fate. Suspicious. After a few seconds of scrutinizing her, I stride away, puzzled.
It is so very odd how this new revelation is interfering. The falling snow does nothing to sooth my nerves. This crime, this sinful deed was meant for snow. I watch my reflection narrow her eyes. Nothing before has interfered with the future. My brows furrow in frustration. Half-lidded eyes fall. Trembling hands rise to massage my aching temples. This is not the course of fate. Why has such an obstacle arisen? Is this the complication that trails the final ending? This girl. That woman. They are one, yet two. Then where does that leave me? My visions come to me a mere week before the affair plays out. One mere week to solve the complicated twists and turns that have formed.
I have yet to meet a person willing to accept such an unpredictable 'gift'. Instead, it is frowned upon as a curse. I am forbidden to voice what I witness while others are forbidden to speak of my curse. This is the unwritten law of our town and its people. Initially, when I woke with a sob, my mother was able to convince me, as well as herself, that it was merely a nightmare. After kindly taking my hand, she walked me back while murmuring affectionate comments. However, before she led me away, she shared a frightened glance with my father. I have often wondered why such an exchange of glances was passed. At that time, I was caught at the tender age of five, vulnerable and trusting. I questioned not the intentions of such exchange. After such alarming nightmares played out in real life five times, I was feared and subjected to solitude. By the age of seven, my friends had come to fear my power. They would constantly shy away from me. Scared that if they were near me, they would be next. And so, from the age of seven to my current age of twelve, I have been deprived of friends and the true love of a family. My life was so empty. I was alone. I've been lonely for all these years. And at times, I wish I could cry, and I wish I could wail all my sorrows away. But no longer can such cries of need and desperation be heard. My eyes became dry of tears long ago.
That exchange. That fear-filled exchange. I remember clearly the look of astonishment and distress. Only the first of many, yet they insisted on believing it was nothing more than a nightmare at that time. Why would they fear a nightmare? My nightmare? I could never attempt to understand their reasoning. My mother had led me back towards my room with encouraging words and a heartwarming smile. I recollect beaming at her reassuring expressions. When did that change? Why? Is this connected with Selena? Selena. The only other member known to have obtained this curse. The only one who appears identical to me. A slight gasp breaks away from my lips; the clues coming together. Hastily, I dash down stairs. Flying past the glaring paintings and lifeless statues, I reach her. My anticipation grows as I stand in front of her, the only thing separating us is a mere cloth. Slowly, almost frightened of what I'll see, I pull back the heavily sewn drapes. There she stands. Staring at me. She does not smile, she does not frown. I reach out a shaking hand to glide over her face down to the frame. I glance down. In my surprise to find another physic, I had failed to realize there was more to her description.
Selena D'Levant
Date of Birth: September 16, 1816
Place of Birth: Latinos, France
Great descendent of world renowned psychic, Carmon D'Levant. Ms. D'Levant was known for her gift of sight; sight into the future. She aided many and prevented the death of her mother as well as her brother. She was praised within her family for her special ability. Selena possessed not only the gift of sight, but the gift of knowledge as well as
beauty. However, many envied her knowledge and beauty and wished ill upon her. Selena became filled with guilt and sheltered herself in her quarters; forbidding anyone entrance. After two years of confinement, she vanished along with another. Neither was found. It is said that her mind and soul broke from the constant guilt of being unable to save others from harm's way, and she finally broke and killed another. Yet, no one was able to figure out for certain why she vanished, and why another vanished as well.
So that was the reason no death date was named. Did she disappear? Is she still alive? No. That's not possible. A frown finds its way on my lips. This is not making sense. Just when one obstacle is removed, another arises. Annoyed, I shake my head and cover her piercing face once again. Turning towards the large double door window, I watch the snow fall over the vast horizon. The grandfather clock strikes midnight. And so it begins.
I realized everyone would remain blissfully unaware of the current situation. No matter how I start my sentences, all would walk away. When tutored, if any words such as 'I saw' or 'it's going to happen' escaped my mouth, she would simply stand and amble out of the room. Everyone refused to hear the life altering event that was to occur. When eating, no words were exchanged. I dare not speak of a vision that will bring nothing but distress. My parents fear me, yes. However, I do believe they hold some form of care for me, just as when I was five. Showing such affection and accepting such affection is forbidden though. That is the motivation for avoiding such conversations. The town knows not of what is to come. I watch them trudge merrily down the streets overflowing with snow. Children laugh and smile while their minds are overtaken by the fascinating snow. Loving birds huddle close with their partners, warming one another with the heat radiating off their feathered bodies. Snow continues to glide downward to this frost covered land. Watching the snow complete its expedition to Earth pleases me immensely. Ironic how that is.
Tomorrow night is the finale. Tomorrow night is the end. Seven days have flown by quicker than anyone could have realized. Selena has yet to reveal any secrets. Yet to reveal any answers. Instead, she stares blankly; urging me to solve her mystery autonomously. Unwilling to reveal her secrets so easily. Her description has burned itself into my memory. Her vague tale puzzles me. Where would Selena go? And why? If she aided so many citizens, why did people feel such towards hatred her? Aggravation is beginning to gnaw at my very soul. She remains an open book written in a foreign language; straight-forward yet elusive. My nerves yearn for a soothing escape. It seems that the only aspect fearless enough to sooth the raging beast within is snow. Cold and delicate, hold it within your hands and it melts. Leave it as it is, and it prospers. Now, the snow falls heavily, beckoning for an innocent soul. Winds whip the snow in every direction, unyielding to any soul lost in its flurry. I glance at the grandfather clock. One hour remains until the hand strikes twelve. Only one hour until the last day begins. Much preparation is needed.
Silently, I walk towards my room. Silently, I open the drapes concealing the window, concealing the snowfall. The glowing moonlight shines through the window. I watch snowflakes dance upon the scenery. Twisting and turning, flipping and gliding. Imitating the graceful ballerina, it spins. I survey the room. Much work has yet to be done. And until the clock strikes twelve, I prepare and meditate on tomorrow's schedule. Tonight, sleep refuses to grace me with its presence. Tonight, I will watch the snow. The monster has arrived. Surprisingly, its wail is no longer vengeful and deep. It is almost feminine, calling out, searching for someone. Tomorrow is going to be a long day.
The snow is refreshing. Its cold fingers gingerly brush my cheeks with its feathery touch, painting them a rosy red. The falling snow flies delicately onto my extended fingers. This snow has been soaring through the clouded air since the beginning. It fits well. A small giggle escapes my lips. Not a soul is present to scold me tonight. Not a soul is present, no looks of fear and disgust held within anyone's eyes. Tonight I am free to act as I please. The snow crunches under my feet as I twirl, arms outstretched. I am death's prediction. Finally it has come.
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And so it did. And so here I am. Now if you don't mind, I have to go on another mission. Sorry for the abrupt departure, but I did not expect you to reamain clueless to my past, after all you are one of us now. So, do your best here, and I'll do my best out there.
"Onna, we're leaving," I can tell who that is before I even try to turn. Thats Hiei. He seems really cold and mean at first but once you get to know him, he's a real softie. At least to me...well anyway um...I have to go...No, sorry I can't explain anything more. Bye!
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No One's POV
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You watch as Botan cheerfully runs to...Hiei was it? He spares you a glance. His eyes are unnaturally crimson, almost like blood. When Botan reaches him, he takes his eyes off you and focuses them on Her. His expression becomes relaxed and almost caring. His lips are moving. But you're too far to hear what he's saying. You see Botan giggle and then scratch the back of her head. He looks at you again, this time with a calculating stare, his eyes narrow, then he turns. You think it odd he was staring at you. As Botan runs to catch up with him once again, you can actually hear her laugh. At what? You don't know. When she catches up, you smile. You can't help but to think that Hiei really is a softie now, a really strong, intimidating and threatining softie, but a softie none-the-less. After all, what kind of mean cruel person would willing reach out to lace their fingers with the happiest, bubblest, cheerful spirit known in Rekai? Naw, no need to be scared of him.
Yes, there is.
You gasp. What (or who should I say) the hell was that?