I woke up sitting in a wooden chair. My hands were tied behind my back with rope. My waist and feet also were tied, but tied around the chair. I hadn't bothered to open my eyes since where ever I was didn't have a light on. Whoever did this had to better have a good reason. Oh, no wait a minute. Riska never needs an excuse, she does what ever she wants and no one cares. Ok, now I'm rambling. Hmm, I wonder how long I've been in here.
"Two days, two hours, two minutes, and exactly two seconds. Not bad, if you like the number two," An evil laugh followed. Yep, Riska is a bitch. Then I realized, how can she read my mind? Hmm, I rather not to know the answer to that.
"Is this the best you could do to me? Tying me up surly won't get you to America's Ten Most Wanted list." She finally stopped laughing. Then I saw light on my eyelids. I opened my eyes and squinted to see her face.
"Take a long look," She gave me a devilish smile and took out a pocket size mirror. I could see my face, and it looked like shit. My face was covered in dried blood, my hair was in a tangled mess, and my clothes were torn and covered in my blood.
Then the anger inside me grew, "You bit-."
"Yeah, yeah. Calling me a bitch is boring me." I glared at her.
"Where is Mr. Simmons, Ms. Bitch?"
"Hmm, Ms. Bitch. I like it. No one's had the guts to tell me that." She spoke it sweetly like she really could like it. Disgusting.
"Answer the question."
"My, my, aren't you direct. I don't believe you are in a position to be asking that." Gag me. She was enjoying this.
Now if I could only untie these ropes, "Would it matter? If I die, I die. I rather die knowing the truth anyway." That was true. I probably wouldn't live through this. I wouldn't see Arnold, Phoebe, or see if Mr. Simmons was alright and thank him for protecting me as best as he could, and I probably won't get the chance to punch Riska's per-fect face. Damn.
"Hmm, what shall I let you see first? How about this?" said Ms. Bitch. The she pointed to the shadows in the nearest corner. Light shown above the shadows and I could make out every detail in horror. "Hmm, I guess being like me has it consequences, doesn't it?" she whispered to me.
I frowned at her, "What do you mean like you?"
She shook her head in while smiling, "You haven't figured it out. I would think it has become obvious." I must have looked confused because she went on. "Why do you think your friends didn't help you while you were hurt? Why did your friends hang around me? Why did your sister die in a plane crash when she was so near being comforted in your arms, and you in hers? Can you not figure why?"
"You did those things." I spoke softly with words covered with anger and hatred.
"Yes, I did, but how?" she questioned me.
"That's what I want to know."
"How...because I'm am more powerful that you, little one. We are special. We are different, we are witches." She spoke that like we were better than everyone else.
"What! That's nonsense. Some bard made them up."
"Are you for sure of that, little one?"
"Stop calling me that!"
"We are witches. Surprisingly, your teacher, Mr. Simmons is sensitive around us. He has special powers. People like us call him a seeker. Your mother is also a witch. She came from the same blood line as me."
"Sure, blood line. I would rather be dead that be related to you." I spoke in a monotone voice. I really meant that.
"You may get your wish." She said with a smile curling on her lips. I couldn't tell if this was a lie or not. She gave a blank face and let me try my best to find some truth or lie. Of course, I couldn't. "Look back to the corner." I obeyed and looked. Then hatred grew again. I couldn't bear seeing anyone tied to the cross, less likely wanting to see someone nailed. I shuddered. They were dead. They, meaning my parents. They were hanging from a cross, just like Jesus, except that I wouldn't believe that they would rise from the dead.
"Let's prove that we're witches, shall we." She spoke it as a statement, not a question. She moved her hand in front of her face in a quick movement. Then the bodies burst into flames.
"No! You are going to pay bitch." My body was shaking uncontrollably. Hatred stormed through me. I was ready to beat the shit out of her.
"How? I'm the one standing. You are my victim, and I shall do what I please." First, I'm going to rip out her vocal cords, then I'll-. Stop. This isn't me. What's going on? I never acted like this. It's like some part of me is coming out that's been hidden. Ahh, I'm still talking nonsense!
"No. You're an old soul. You've been around for centuries. This part of you is from long ago. You were living in the Dark Ages. You were the Princess of the witches, known as Princess Hel of Angelus, of the Angels of Darkness guild. That's where you received your fighting spirit. People like us have been searching for you. You are the one they need." They? She's not in, um, my group. Good grief, I thought I was going to gag for a moment.
"So, how could we be in the same blood line and not be in the same group?" I asked her.
"We were divided. I'll show you." She walked back over to me and raised her left hand to my temple with her middle and index finger. Pictures flooded through my eyes. Death, misery, hatred, people dressed in black, and even magic. Then I heard Riska's voice in my head, "Here is the how the line spitted." Next, I could see a story. This is what happened.
"Two days, two hours, two minutes, and exactly two seconds. Not bad, if you like the number two," An evil laugh followed. Yep, Riska is a bitch. Then I realized, how can she read my mind? Hmm, I rather not to know the answer to that.
"Is this the best you could do to me? Tying me up surly won't get you to America's Ten Most Wanted list." She finally stopped laughing. Then I saw light on my eyelids. I opened my eyes and squinted to see her face.
"Take a long look," She gave me a devilish smile and took out a pocket size mirror. I could see my face, and it looked like shit. My face was covered in dried blood, my hair was in a tangled mess, and my clothes were torn and covered in my blood.
Then the anger inside me grew, "You bit-."
"Yeah, yeah. Calling me a bitch is boring me." I glared at her.
"Where is Mr. Simmons, Ms. Bitch?"
"Hmm, Ms. Bitch. I like it. No one's had the guts to tell me that." She spoke it sweetly like she really could like it. Disgusting.
"Answer the question."
"My, my, aren't you direct. I don't believe you are in a position to be asking that." Gag me. She was enjoying this.
Now if I could only untie these ropes, "Would it matter? If I die, I die. I rather die knowing the truth anyway." That was true. I probably wouldn't live through this. I wouldn't see Arnold, Phoebe, or see if Mr. Simmons was alright and thank him for protecting me as best as he could, and I probably won't get the chance to punch Riska's per-fect face. Damn.
"Hmm, what shall I let you see first? How about this?" said Ms. Bitch. The she pointed to the shadows in the nearest corner. Light shown above the shadows and I could make out every detail in horror. "Hmm, I guess being like me has it consequences, doesn't it?" she whispered to me.
I frowned at her, "What do you mean like you?"
She shook her head in while smiling, "You haven't figured it out. I would think it has become obvious." I must have looked confused because she went on. "Why do you think your friends didn't help you while you were hurt? Why did your friends hang around me? Why did your sister die in a plane crash when she was so near being comforted in your arms, and you in hers? Can you not figure why?"
"You did those things." I spoke softly with words covered with anger and hatred.
"Yes, I did, but how?" she questioned me.
"That's what I want to know."
"How...because I'm am more powerful that you, little one. We are special. We are different, we are witches." She spoke that like we were better than everyone else.
"What! That's nonsense. Some bard made them up."
"Are you for sure of that, little one?"
"Stop calling me that!"
"We are witches. Surprisingly, your teacher, Mr. Simmons is sensitive around us. He has special powers. People like us call him a seeker. Your mother is also a witch. She came from the same blood line as me."
"Sure, blood line. I would rather be dead that be related to you." I spoke in a monotone voice. I really meant that.
"You may get your wish." She said with a smile curling on her lips. I couldn't tell if this was a lie or not. She gave a blank face and let me try my best to find some truth or lie. Of course, I couldn't. "Look back to the corner." I obeyed and looked. Then hatred grew again. I couldn't bear seeing anyone tied to the cross, less likely wanting to see someone nailed. I shuddered. They were dead. They, meaning my parents. They were hanging from a cross, just like Jesus, except that I wouldn't believe that they would rise from the dead.
"Let's prove that we're witches, shall we." She spoke it as a statement, not a question. She moved her hand in front of her face in a quick movement. Then the bodies burst into flames.
"No! You are going to pay bitch." My body was shaking uncontrollably. Hatred stormed through me. I was ready to beat the shit out of her.
"How? I'm the one standing. You are my victim, and I shall do what I please." First, I'm going to rip out her vocal cords, then I'll-. Stop. This isn't me. What's going on? I never acted like this. It's like some part of me is coming out that's been hidden. Ahh, I'm still talking nonsense!
"No. You're an old soul. You've been around for centuries. This part of you is from long ago. You were living in the Dark Ages. You were the Princess of the witches, known as Princess Hel of Angelus, of the Angels of Darkness guild. That's where you received your fighting spirit. People like us have been searching for you. You are the one they need." They? She's not in, um, my group. Good grief, I thought I was going to gag for a moment.
"So, how could we be in the same blood line and not be in the same group?" I asked her.
"We were divided. I'll show you." She walked back over to me and raised her left hand to my temple with her middle and index finger. Pictures flooded through my eyes. Death, misery, hatred, people dressed in black, and even magic. Then I heard Riska's voice in my head, "Here is the how the line spitted." Next, I could see a story. This is what happened.