Shadows. The night air swirled through the dark leaves. Merlose sighed, and looked out across
the expanse of perfect grass that was her back yard. Spring lilies were scattered across it, their
delicate petals closed up to the night. The blade was silver and cool in her hands. She was
looking at the scars. He had not helped.
She thought that being with him could make her forget the pain. But it didn't. The red wasn't any
sweeter, it still had that haunting echo. The stars watched her, sharp and distant, the little angel
alone on the steps of her back porch with a knife in her pale hands. The ritual still wasn't broken,
she had not found her peace. She touched the blade to her flesh and closed her eyes.
~Danger. The darkness has finally caught up to you, angel.~
She gasped, and opened her eyes, looking down at the long red cut on her arm. Blood, too much
blood, and the knife...Strong fingers were clamped around her own, and then it was pulled from
her grasp. She stumbled back, trying to get to her feet, but fell into the railing that ringed the
porch.
Holding on to it tightly, her knuckles white, she struggled to make out the dark form. A flame. A
tiny seed of life and destruction flared. A lighter, and in the flame the woman's profile could be
seen, the knife catching the flame in its silver blade.
"C-Carroll?"
Carroll turned and looked at Merlose, dropping her lighter, which fell between the spaced apart
boards of the porch. Pure hate shone in her eyes, through the dim moonlight that filtered through
the clouds.
"Yeah, who would have guessed, eh?"
She tossed the knife in the air, spinning, and caught it. Merlose started to look sincerely afraid,
rooted to the spot though her instincts told her to get up and run.
"Wondering what this is about? Afraid of me?" Suddenly her tone switched, from quiet menace
to anger. "Well you should fucking know! If you weren't such a *bitch* I wouldn't even be here!
Vincent, it's about Vincent. You're his little wingless angel, fallen to heaven for him."
She walked a few steps towards her, even her footsteps looked strained, like she was stopping
herself.
"He's blinded himself, and you're leading him on towards heartbreak, again. I love him! And you
don't! You don't deserve his love, you just happen to look like Lucrecia, you whore."
Merlose got to her feet, holding her bleeding arm, and managed to look straight at Carroll,
convinced the other woman wouldn't try anything.
"So what, you think you're worthy of his love? I'm using him, but he's happy. In the years you've
been living with him, how often were you able to say that, hm? You're just a junkie, even if I'm
out of the picture you'll never be good enough for him either. That makes us alike in a way."
~Merlose is the first to see the bond they share. Carroll will try to shatter it. The color red,
spilled in scarlet indifference.~
Carroll gave a little yell of rage and rushed Merlose, forcing her down to the floor. Flashes of hot
white fury danced in front of her eyes, and she couldn't stop herself from bringing the knife down.
Merlose cringed, and started to struggle away from Carroll, who was holding her down. Pain
seared a line down her cheek and collarbone, from where the knife had grazed her. Smoke
seemed to materialize from nowhere, slowing her down, making her move slow motion through a
nightmare of pain and silver and stars.
And now flames. Her struggles got weaker. Carroll looked delicate but her hand cut into
Merlose's wrist, and she started to find it hard to breathe. Tears streamed down her face to mix
with the blood and carve stinging marks of salt into the multiple cuts. She stopped struggling.
~The memories, tinged with tears and bloodstains~
Merlose remembered. She remembered what she had fought so long to forget. In flashes and
captures, she remembered him. The first one, his messy black hair and his red, torn clothing. A
small smile, but then the abuse...The way he hit her, the way he told her she was useless, and
locked her out of the house. The long cold nights when she started to hate him...They had been
married, and then he finally went too far.
He was drunk, it was night, and the highway was long and black. Street lamps spotted the road,
and he was pushing the speed limit. A scream, her own, crunching metal, screeching breaks, the
musical shatter of glass. The accident. Then everything was black, and she never saw him again.
The pain snapped her back to reality. Heat...
Carroll was running, tripping over her feet, out of breath but not caring. She needed to get away
from that place as fast as she could, and as far away from it as she could. She ran harder, despite
the stitch in her side. Her pale hands were covered in blood, and stains splattered the black
clothing she was wearing. She ran, letting the physical action block out the thoughts of him, the
thoughts of what she had just done.
The fire flickered stark in the evening air. Sirens started to wait in the distance, they had spotted
the fire that was licking at the night sky, consuming the lovely grey and white trimmed house on
the corner lot. The stars watched the passion play silently. Or perhaps they were laughing..
Carroll tripped, and skinned her knee on the pavement in a dingy alley. She got to her feet,
heading towards a cheap hotel she knew of, knowing she could not return home until much later.
Vincent woke up from a deep sleep, and stared at the red satin lining on his coffin for a while. He
had been dreaming about fire. A vague feeling of something being wrong crept up on him, but he
forced himself to ignore it, and drifted back to sleep.
~The victorious one is undecided. Carroll wanders alone...~
...........................................................................................
A week had passed. Vincent found himself at a loss for something to occupy him, the two
women who seemed to occupy his free time had both disappeared. He idly sunk back into
routine, going to work, paying bills, cooking, cleaning the apartment. At Carroll's absence, it had
actually started to look very nice, lacking the inclination to disorder and chaos it usually has.
He did not seek either out, yet it was Carroll he found himself worrying about more, reading the
papers, wondering if something had happened to her. She was tied up in so many illegal messes,
he was worried she was killed, or in prison somewhere. But then, he hadn't heard anything like
that, so no news was good news.
Then it happened. The newspaper article. It was lying harmlessly on an end table, with its little
bold headline and small black and white photograph. The sun had not yet come up, and
everything was painted in morning's cool hues. Vincent was making himself a cup of coffee when
the picture caught his attention.
He put down his cup and picked up the article, the bad feeling from that night, a week ago,
returning to him.
~Truth and deception~
It was Merlose, smiling from what could have been a highschool picture, blurry and pixelized.
Trying to shine her way from out of the darkness. Vincent was almost afraid to read the article.
But it was too late.
Woman assaulted and severely burned in fire.
Things like this didn't happen. Not twice. His eyes skimmed down the lines of text, so neat and
lined up. They didn't know how much this hurt. It said she had been cut repeatedly by knife
wounds, and left for dead in the ensuing fire. The fingerprints had been identified from the
weapon, which had been left at the scene. The culprit was being kept confidential until the trial.
He tore out the article and folded it, putting it in his pocket. He swore that whoever had done
this would not get away with it. Then he left his house, heading toward's Merlose's street.
~Ashes to ashes. A spiderweb of circumstance, with the rose caught in the center, helpless.~
The house was blackened, to contrast sharply with the strings of yellow caution tape strung up
around the premise. He ignored them and approached her front steps. It was eerie, seeing it like
this. Ghosts of candles, flickering along the edges of all the tables and lined up on the floor, the
first night he had seen this place.
Towards the back, the strings of yellow tape metamorphosesed into red, proclaiming Crime
Scene. Vincent avoided the back porch, and instead walked back out.
the expanse of perfect grass that was her back yard. Spring lilies were scattered across it, their
delicate petals closed up to the night. The blade was silver and cool in her hands. She was
looking at the scars. He had not helped.
She thought that being with him could make her forget the pain. But it didn't. The red wasn't any
sweeter, it still had that haunting echo. The stars watched her, sharp and distant, the little angel
alone on the steps of her back porch with a knife in her pale hands. The ritual still wasn't broken,
she had not found her peace. She touched the blade to her flesh and closed her eyes.
~Danger. The darkness has finally caught up to you, angel.~
She gasped, and opened her eyes, looking down at the long red cut on her arm. Blood, too much
blood, and the knife...Strong fingers were clamped around her own, and then it was pulled from
her grasp. She stumbled back, trying to get to her feet, but fell into the railing that ringed the
porch.
Holding on to it tightly, her knuckles white, she struggled to make out the dark form. A flame. A
tiny seed of life and destruction flared. A lighter, and in the flame the woman's profile could be
seen, the knife catching the flame in its silver blade.
"C-Carroll?"
Carroll turned and looked at Merlose, dropping her lighter, which fell between the spaced apart
boards of the porch. Pure hate shone in her eyes, through the dim moonlight that filtered through
the clouds.
"Yeah, who would have guessed, eh?"
She tossed the knife in the air, spinning, and caught it. Merlose started to look sincerely afraid,
rooted to the spot though her instincts told her to get up and run.
"Wondering what this is about? Afraid of me?" Suddenly her tone switched, from quiet menace
to anger. "Well you should fucking know! If you weren't such a *bitch* I wouldn't even be here!
Vincent, it's about Vincent. You're his little wingless angel, fallen to heaven for him."
She walked a few steps towards her, even her footsteps looked strained, like she was stopping
herself.
"He's blinded himself, and you're leading him on towards heartbreak, again. I love him! And you
don't! You don't deserve his love, you just happen to look like Lucrecia, you whore."
Merlose got to her feet, holding her bleeding arm, and managed to look straight at Carroll,
convinced the other woman wouldn't try anything.
"So what, you think you're worthy of his love? I'm using him, but he's happy. In the years you've
been living with him, how often were you able to say that, hm? You're just a junkie, even if I'm
out of the picture you'll never be good enough for him either. That makes us alike in a way."
~Merlose is the first to see the bond they share. Carroll will try to shatter it. The color red,
spilled in scarlet indifference.~
Carroll gave a little yell of rage and rushed Merlose, forcing her down to the floor. Flashes of hot
white fury danced in front of her eyes, and she couldn't stop herself from bringing the knife down.
Merlose cringed, and started to struggle away from Carroll, who was holding her down. Pain
seared a line down her cheek and collarbone, from where the knife had grazed her. Smoke
seemed to materialize from nowhere, slowing her down, making her move slow motion through a
nightmare of pain and silver and stars.
And now flames. Her struggles got weaker. Carroll looked delicate but her hand cut into
Merlose's wrist, and she started to find it hard to breathe. Tears streamed down her face to mix
with the blood and carve stinging marks of salt into the multiple cuts. She stopped struggling.
~The memories, tinged with tears and bloodstains~
Merlose remembered. She remembered what she had fought so long to forget. In flashes and
captures, she remembered him. The first one, his messy black hair and his red, torn clothing. A
small smile, but then the abuse...The way he hit her, the way he told her she was useless, and
locked her out of the house. The long cold nights when she started to hate him...They had been
married, and then he finally went too far.
He was drunk, it was night, and the highway was long and black. Street lamps spotted the road,
and he was pushing the speed limit. A scream, her own, crunching metal, screeching breaks, the
musical shatter of glass. The accident. Then everything was black, and she never saw him again.
The pain snapped her back to reality. Heat...
Carroll was running, tripping over her feet, out of breath but not caring. She needed to get away
from that place as fast as she could, and as far away from it as she could. She ran harder, despite
the stitch in her side. Her pale hands were covered in blood, and stains splattered the black
clothing she was wearing. She ran, letting the physical action block out the thoughts of him, the
thoughts of what she had just done.
The fire flickered stark in the evening air. Sirens started to wait in the distance, they had spotted
the fire that was licking at the night sky, consuming the lovely grey and white trimmed house on
the corner lot. The stars watched the passion play silently. Or perhaps they were laughing..
Carroll tripped, and skinned her knee on the pavement in a dingy alley. She got to her feet,
heading towards a cheap hotel she knew of, knowing she could not return home until much later.
Vincent woke up from a deep sleep, and stared at the red satin lining on his coffin for a while. He
had been dreaming about fire. A vague feeling of something being wrong crept up on him, but he
forced himself to ignore it, and drifted back to sleep.
~The victorious one is undecided. Carroll wanders alone...~
...........................................................................................
A week had passed. Vincent found himself at a loss for something to occupy him, the two
women who seemed to occupy his free time had both disappeared. He idly sunk back into
routine, going to work, paying bills, cooking, cleaning the apartment. At Carroll's absence, it had
actually started to look very nice, lacking the inclination to disorder and chaos it usually has.
He did not seek either out, yet it was Carroll he found himself worrying about more, reading the
papers, wondering if something had happened to her. She was tied up in so many illegal messes,
he was worried she was killed, or in prison somewhere. But then, he hadn't heard anything like
that, so no news was good news.
Then it happened. The newspaper article. It was lying harmlessly on an end table, with its little
bold headline and small black and white photograph. The sun had not yet come up, and
everything was painted in morning's cool hues. Vincent was making himself a cup of coffee when
the picture caught his attention.
He put down his cup and picked up the article, the bad feeling from that night, a week ago,
returning to him.
~Truth and deception~
It was Merlose, smiling from what could have been a highschool picture, blurry and pixelized.
Trying to shine her way from out of the darkness. Vincent was almost afraid to read the article.
But it was too late.
Woman assaulted and severely burned in fire.
Things like this didn't happen. Not twice. His eyes skimmed down the lines of text, so neat and
lined up. They didn't know how much this hurt. It said she had been cut repeatedly by knife
wounds, and left for dead in the ensuing fire. The fingerprints had been identified from the
weapon, which had been left at the scene. The culprit was being kept confidential until the trial.
He tore out the article and folded it, putting it in his pocket. He swore that whoever had done
this would not get away with it. Then he left his house, heading toward's Merlose's street.
~Ashes to ashes. A spiderweb of circumstance, with the rose caught in the center, helpless.~
The house was blackened, to contrast sharply with the strings of yellow caution tape strung up
around the premise. He ignored them and approached her front steps. It was eerie, seeing it like
this. Ghosts of candles, flickering along the edges of all the tables and lined up on the floor, the
first night he had seen this place.
Towards the back, the strings of yellow tape metamorphosesed into red, proclaiming Crime
Scene. Vincent avoided the back porch, and instead walked back out.