Author's Notes: Heey.. sorry for the delay, if anyone was waiting! :3
A Cloak Of Elvenkind
A cloaking robe of elvenkind hangs in my wardrobe behind,
All those things that Mother said were proper for a boy.
And I know I could not saw why,
On this summer evening.
The click of a revolver rang in her ear. Glancing to her right, she let out a gasp, the end of a barrel was staring her down, it's cool rim coming to rest against her cheek.
"I only got one shot," a husky voice mocked. "Who'll it be? You, or them?"
Click. Click.
"Red, please don't make me do this," she pleaded, looking on at the woman before them. She was a pretty girl, young, and still full of life. Her vibrant eyes welled with tears as she clasped both hands to her stomach, cradling an unborn child.
"It's this wench's husband's own fault for not listening to us," he ground out, pulling the trigger once more.
"So just take the money and-"
At that moment, he came toward her, the butt of his gun colliding with her temple. She gave a cry of pain, clasping a hand to the wound. Blood trickled down her fingers as she cursed the man through clenched teeth. "Now," he began, yanking her upward, "I suggest you cut the crap and just get this over with." His breath was hot on her ear as he spoke, and she mechanically raised her piece, taking aim at her superior.
"You little bitch," he hissed, striking her across the face. "Try and shoot me, will ya?" She gasped as he drove his boot into her ribs, sending her to the ground.
Peering up at him, she spat the grit from her mouth, watching as he hastily reloaded his gun. Panicked, she turned to the woman, letting out a desperate command. "Run!"
The outcry was muted, though, as a series of shots rang out, and the woman's cries were instantly stifled.
"Why? Why didn't you do it? Why didn't you stop them?" A slur of voices seemed to engulf her, as if plummeting into a dark abyss. "Why did you let them suffer?"
Chest tightening, her breathing becoming rasped, she felt cool metal digging into her skin. With a swift blow to the head, she was sent tumbling to the ground, repeatedly taking each hit. "No, stop," she groaned, "please, stop...stop it, stop it, stop it!"
Bolting upright, she glanced about the room; she was back in her own bed. Sweat trailed across her brow, her entire frame quivering. "Just a dream."
An arid breeze whisked in through the open window where Brett stood, hovering over the counter, preparing lunch. She wiped the sweat from her brow with a sigh. Over the past months, the orphanage had become her entire existence, doting each child with ardent love and affection. Living in such conditions with children didn't seem appropriate to her, but she supposed Wolfwood was right; it was better than them roaming the desert. At least this way they knew there would always be a meal and a bed waiting for them. It pained her to think of those who'd been left behind, about the atrocity that was now Liverpool.
"Feeling any better?"
She gasped, pinching the brim of her nose. "I swear, Nicholas, you're going to give me a heart attack."
"Ha, sorry," he chuckled, lighting a cigarette. "Hey, I think you aughta take it easy next time. I got a little worried finding you passed out like that."
"Nah, I'm fine," she brushed off the matter. "You know I can't hold my liquor for nothin'."
Wolfwood smiled in reply, watching her work. No matter which way he wanted to look at it, she was an honest blessing. Her presence alone seemed to brighten a room; it was only the seldom instances when she drank that she became grueling and, more often than not, a brooder. That aside, the children adored her, she kept a tidy home, and was one hell of a good cook.
