R n' R~~~ Pleaz!
Kinda copied some parts from the book, otherwise the rest is all ours!
Thanks to Becca for giving us an idea to write about Nora and hottie Patch!
BTW, there are two of us. Hope you like this as much as we looooved writing it!
ENJOY!
Byeeeee~!
F R A G I L E
PROLOGUE
Loire Valley, France
November 1565
Chauncey hurried along the banks of the river, watching the black water churn just a few feet below him. His shoes were caked with dried mud, and he could feel the water sloshing around inside them. He was soaked head to toe, and he had no hope of drying himself, seeing as there was rain continuously pouring down with unbelievable strength and persistence.
Chauncey shivered in the chill wind that accompanied the rain. He remembered his mother once telling him that rain was nothing more than the teardrops of God. He wasn't so sure he believed her anymore.
A voice shattered his thoughts.
"Going somewhere, sir?"
Chauncey's head snapped to the left, and he scanned the darkness, straining to see through the thick, deceiving fog.
"Who goes there?"
He finally detected the figure, it was a boy, leaning against the trunk of a willow tree.
"Nobody, sir, your imagination is fooling you." The boy teased in a mocking tone.
"I hear your voice!" Chauncey called, frustration building inside him. "Now show yourself!"
"Ah, sir. I cannot do that - it would be against The Covenant,"
Chauncey's breath caught in his throat. "The Covenant? The sacred oath of the Fallen?"
Chauncey saw the blurry shape of the shadow's head bob up and down. "How-" Chauncey's eyes widened. "You are a Fallen?"
The boy nodded again, and Chauncey thought he saw a glint of white as the boy's mouth hinted at a smile.
Chauncey found his dignity at once. "I do not believe you. Why should I, anyhow? You are probably nothing more than a pheasant boy. Now show yourself! I command you!"
The grin remained on the boy's face. "Tell me, sir, would a pheasant boy have knowledge about The Covenant? Is it even possible?"
The boy had a point, and Chauncey's mind went blank. "I- you…"
His voice was lost in a sudden violent rip of wind. The boy gave a low, ominous chuckle and stepped forward into a slant of moonlight. He was undeniably beautiful, with dark hair and glittering black eyes. Up close, he looked older than Chauncey had guessed him to be; perhaps even only a few years younger than Chauncey himself. The boy had an easy grin that was both lazy and intriguing at once.
What he said next was what surprised Chauncey most, however.
"Sir, I beg your pardon, but I need you to do me a favor,"
Chauncey commanded himself to laugh harshly. "Me? Do you a favor? That is the most vulgar suggestion that has ever been presented to me."
Chauncey could see anger harden the angles of the boy's face and felt fear mask his own, immediately regretting what he had just said. This boy was mysterious and… dangerous. He could not be trusted or considered indifferently. Chauncey would never admit it to anyone, but he was afraid of this untamed boy, who would act on impulse and do anything to get what he wanted. Chauncey shuddered and raised his chin defiantly. "Do you hear me, boy?"
"Yes, sir," The boy smiled, hiding his annoyance.
"Well then, I had best be on by way," Chauncey bowed slightly and turned away, wanting to be as far away from here as he could possibly get. But before he could take a step, a hand grabbed his shoulder and whirled him around.
The boy stood in front of him, a dagger clenched in a steel fist. The other fist held a handful of Chauncey's linen shirt. The dagger glowed with an unearthly light, and the blade was sharper than that of any other knife Chauncey had ever come across.
Chauncey didn't know how to process what was happening. The boy brandished the knife casually, as if he'd murdered many other people in the past. Chauncey trembled and sank to the ground, his knees buckling and giving away underneath him. His stomach constricted, and he found it hard to breathe. He knew it would be to no avail to try and run.
"Say good-bye, sir." The boy grinned almost monstrously, gripping the knife tighter. He didn't look human. But then again, he wasn't.
The boy raised the knife and Chauncey saw it slash through the air.
There was a shrill sound that escaped from Chauncey's throat, one that he had never heard before.
Red liquid sputtered out of Chauncey's mouth and dripped onto the ground where it vanished immediately, washed away by the heavy downpour of rain.
"I'm sorry, sir." The boy murmured into Chauncey's ear, although he didn't sound very apologetic. No remorse was shown in the boy's endless eyes, just hard cunning and murder.
The boy reared back again, and Chauncey braced himself. He watched the water trickle off the boy's smooth features and onto his dark clothes. "God hates you," Chauncey croaked, feeling hatred and revulsion, and nothing else. He was going to die, anyway.
The knife sliced again, and Chauncey dropped to the ground, torn from life; claimed by Death. His body was limp and cold, his wounds having no blood left to spill; they were merely gaping holes. The air resonated with the boy's low laughter, and as he walked back into the concealment of the shadows, he cleaned the blade of the dagger and tucked it away. He wouldn't need it again for a very long time.