Eli: Hello. I'm stopping English Invader for a while. Sorry for those who
want to read more of it. I hope you enjoy this chapter.
David Bronte.
Secret agent, hero of war, wielder of the witchblade, the only love of Meredith's life. As she sat on the chair by the fire, gazing at his picture, she seemed to recall most of the events that befell them.
She remembered the party where they had first met. How he immediately tore her attention away from Hitler and had her for his own. She remembered him talking her into leaving Berlin and siding with the Americans. Oh how much she had trusted him. To let him navigate her life. How entirely she had given into his every whim.
And how horribly he had tossed her aside.
He had never told her he knew she was not his true love. That he seeked another woman who was a polar opposite. Meredith had been a pawn to him, nothing real. Just a way to keep searching.
Then again, he never knew Meredith knew about his soul mate from her contact with the witchblade. He had never known Meredith had gotten to her first, a young Jewish woman. A woman with extraordinary green eyes. A woman who was yet another victim to the holocaust.
Meredith sipped her wine. She loved him and yet hated him. Even from his grave he taunted her. "Will you never cease, David?"
The portrait had no reply. It never did. Over fifty years, he talked no longer. Silent.
His remains probably lie somewhere in England. His blood separated forcibly from it. Taken to a lab and used for research. So much had been discovered over the last fifty years. But now they were running out. Even the fountain of youth needed to be replenished. She glanced at the clock.
"Sara, you stupid girl. Where are you?"
Perhaps she had run so that she didn't need to kill the wielder. Yes, Meredith knew Sara liked him. She knew many things. She knew she should have never had Sara. That she should have had an abortion rather than give birth to that ungrateful thing.
Sara had served her so well up till now. Meredith then recalled that fateful ball. The place where her ice blue eyes had been captured by a certain pair of green ones from across the room. How she found herself moving towards the man. Quiet, strong, handsome, intelligent, and faithful. That was James Pezzini.
Sara's father. Sara took after him. Meredith didn't really know if she loved him or not. She liked him, slept with him, married him briefly, and then was torn from him. Lost him to a stray bullet.
Then she had Sara. She tried to lover her daughter, but found it oh so difficult. The child had loved her. She was special. So special Meredith even let her try on the bracelet. But she didn't know then. Not till after Sara's contact with the blade did she realize she could never love this child. The child with bright green eyes.
The child meant for the wielder.
Sara, not Meredith, was meant to be with next wielder. Unknown to Meredith, James was the nephew of the to be beloved of David. Now, her own daughter was to have the place she so desired. Never could that happen. Would never happen.
She became emotionally unattached to her own daughter. Then, she raised her as an Amazon, a warrior, an assassin. Made her so unrelated to the whole world that she could never fit in. Could never know any of its joys.
So that she could never know love.
But now this new wielder, this clone of her David, cared not. She knew his attraction to her offspring. How he wished to take her away.
But he did not love her.
He could not love her. Sara was too abnormal. She could never tempt him for long. Could never be what he wanted her to be. Sara didn't even dare to remove her gloves. How could she ever be the lover he desired her to be? Meredith smiled at the thought. She had foiled the love once again.
Or so she thought.
Her smile soon faded as she felt the witchblade took over. She was swept with the wielders emotions and was disgusted. Happiness, joy, relief, longing, thankful. What was this? And with each minute it became stronger, more over whelming.
What the hell was happening?
The witchblade willed the connection stronger as she heard the things he heard. Felt the things he felt. She knew now what was going on. He was sleeping with someone. Meredith tried to get to the phone, to call Sara to make whoever the wielder was with stop the activities. Sara, being the infatuated child she was, would most likely oblige. But She was too weak to get to the phone.
The sickening sensation of the wielders feelings over whelmed. He loved this woman. And this woman loved him just as equally. That was why the connection was so strong. It came from he purest of forms. The love sickened Meredith to the stomach. Who was this woman? She need not wonder for long.
The connection was even stronger. So strong she even felt herself mumbling the same things he did. One name stuck out.
"Sara."
No! It could not be. He was bedding her own daughter? And she felt this? The witchblade may have always hated her, but this was too much. To feel a man pleasuring her own flesh and blood was the most sickening thing that could be done. And Sara! How dare she let herself be used in this way.
Suddenly, the connection was cut off. No reasons. Meredith summoned all her strength to feel her ties to the witchblade, but it was to no avail. She went to trace the lines of her scars, but none were there. She looked frantically at her hand, but nothing was there. The witchblade had cut her off. Permanently. She knew not how or why, but she was certain that was what had happened. She was terribly confused, but one other thing was certain to her.
Sara would pay, dearly.
Eli: More soon. How was this?
David Bronte.
Secret agent, hero of war, wielder of the witchblade, the only love of Meredith's life. As she sat on the chair by the fire, gazing at his picture, she seemed to recall most of the events that befell them.
She remembered the party where they had first met. How he immediately tore her attention away from Hitler and had her for his own. She remembered him talking her into leaving Berlin and siding with the Americans. Oh how much she had trusted him. To let him navigate her life. How entirely she had given into his every whim.
And how horribly he had tossed her aside.
He had never told her he knew she was not his true love. That he seeked another woman who was a polar opposite. Meredith had been a pawn to him, nothing real. Just a way to keep searching.
Then again, he never knew Meredith knew about his soul mate from her contact with the witchblade. He had never known Meredith had gotten to her first, a young Jewish woman. A woman with extraordinary green eyes. A woman who was yet another victim to the holocaust.
Meredith sipped her wine. She loved him and yet hated him. Even from his grave he taunted her. "Will you never cease, David?"
The portrait had no reply. It never did. Over fifty years, he talked no longer. Silent.
His remains probably lie somewhere in England. His blood separated forcibly from it. Taken to a lab and used for research. So much had been discovered over the last fifty years. But now they were running out. Even the fountain of youth needed to be replenished. She glanced at the clock.
"Sara, you stupid girl. Where are you?"
Perhaps she had run so that she didn't need to kill the wielder. Yes, Meredith knew Sara liked him. She knew many things. She knew she should have never had Sara. That she should have had an abortion rather than give birth to that ungrateful thing.
Sara had served her so well up till now. Meredith then recalled that fateful ball. The place where her ice blue eyes had been captured by a certain pair of green ones from across the room. How she found herself moving towards the man. Quiet, strong, handsome, intelligent, and faithful. That was James Pezzini.
Sara's father. Sara took after him. Meredith didn't really know if she loved him or not. She liked him, slept with him, married him briefly, and then was torn from him. Lost him to a stray bullet.
Then she had Sara. She tried to lover her daughter, but found it oh so difficult. The child had loved her. She was special. So special Meredith even let her try on the bracelet. But she didn't know then. Not till after Sara's contact with the blade did she realize she could never love this child. The child with bright green eyes.
The child meant for the wielder.
Sara, not Meredith, was meant to be with next wielder. Unknown to Meredith, James was the nephew of the to be beloved of David. Now, her own daughter was to have the place she so desired. Never could that happen. Would never happen.
She became emotionally unattached to her own daughter. Then, she raised her as an Amazon, a warrior, an assassin. Made her so unrelated to the whole world that she could never fit in. Could never know any of its joys.
So that she could never know love.
But now this new wielder, this clone of her David, cared not. She knew his attraction to her offspring. How he wished to take her away.
But he did not love her.
He could not love her. Sara was too abnormal. She could never tempt him for long. Could never be what he wanted her to be. Sara didn't even dare to remove her gloves. How could she ever be the lover he desired her to be? Meredith smiled at the thought. She had foiled the love once again.
Or so she thought.
Her smile soon faded as she felt the witchblade took over. She was swept with the wielders emotions and was disgusted. Happiness, joy, relief, longing, thankful. What was this? And with each minute it became stronger, more over whelming.
What the hell was happening?
The witchblade willed the connection stronger as she heard the things he heard. Felt the things he felt. She knew now what was going on. He was sleeping with someone. Meredith tried to get to the phone, to call Sara to make whoever the wielder was with stop the activities. Sara, being the infatuated child she was, would most likely oblige. But She was too weak to get to the phone.
The sickening sensation of the wielders feelings over whelmed. He loved this woman. And this woman loved him just as equally. That was why the connection was so strong. It came from he purest of forms. The love sickened Meredith to the stomach. Who was this woman? She need not wonder for long.
The connection was even stronger. So strong she even felt herself mumbling the same things he did. One name stuck out.
"Sara."
No! It could not be. He was bedding her own daughter? And she felt this? The witchblade may have always hated her, but this was too much. To feel a man pleasuring her own flesh and blood was the most sickening thing that could be done. And Sara! How dare she let herself be used in this way.
Suddenly, the connection was cut off. No reasons. Meredith summoned all her strength to feel her ties to the witchblade, but it was to no avail. She went to trace the lines of her scars, but none were there. She looked frantically at her hand, but nothing was there. The witchblade had cut her off. Permanently. She knew not how or why, but she was certain that was what had happened. She was terribly confused, but one other thing was certain to her.
Sara would pay, dearly.
Eli: More soon. How was this?