I apologize from the deepest, most profound depths of my soul (where I keep the apricot jelly) for the horrendously long wait. For the past ::gasp:: month, the proverbial shit has been hitting, without pause, the fan (in other words, I had loads of school business to attend to.) Please forgive the good Mogget of oat-filled joy, I implore you.

Double chocolate thanks for the reviews…

fin: Yeah…Winn was wigging out over the whole swirl-y darkness element, I think. Her past will come out in more detail a teeny bit later, but if you want an extremely brief summary, its somewhere in Chapter 2, I believe; basically, she had an abusive family situation, so she ran away. On the whole Lif thing, all I can say is: "We'll see." So, we'll see. Read on…!

Sweetie Pie: Bang Bang! (I'm shooting, with a squirt gun, into the air).

Dulce Ambrosia: Gracias…Read on…!

Zabella: Personally, I have found that shiny objects hold a certain allure for me, too. Read on…

Dragon Fire: You're on the right track, my semi-frighteningly manic, vowel-obsessive chum! Read on…!

galaktis: I dig your insight! I comprehend your meaning utterly and it's super acute that you've noticed the whole thought-process element I'm trying to put into the story…Most excellent. Please do read on…!

angelphire: That I shall. Read on…!!!!   

Chapter Six: The Marquéd

~~They watch me…Do they see me? I watch them…I wonder, do I see them? Pretty girl, pretty girl, are you watching me? Pretty boy, pretty boy, am I watching you?~~ She sighed. A rumpled, wet day. Sallow grey skies dripped…dripped. Dripped. Mara hunched deeper into the soggy, plastic-draped lean-to set against a rough cement wall. Cars sped by in dripping, multihued blurs, spattering grime and rainwater across the clear plastic curtain hanging over the shack's entrance. Damn cars.

Mara rubbed her eyes, stroked the sunken orbs; she caressed her papery, crinkled cheeks, probing the deep hollow between cheekbone and jaw. Stringy, waxy hair clung wetly to her shriveled throat and ears; Mara stared at her hands. Once, so long, long ago, her hands were slender, soft, smooth, and tipped with pink-flushed, oval fingernails; she flexed her fingers. Now sunburned, pock-marked, and ridged with black grime, her hands were scarred, gnarled testimony to the life she'd led for the past seventeen years.

She laughed harshly. ~~I watch them. No one watches me. No one…~~ The smile faded. Blinking, Mara noticed a small, bundled up creature hurrying past her den. Who was it? Greedily, she snatched a quick look at its face. A pale, translucent thing, engulfed by a gentle quivering, her face an ashy, bluish blur set with two great, dark smudges for eyes. A dark, wild mass of curls framed the ashen, elfin face. Mara narrowed her eyes, intrigued. ~~That one is peculiar…all hazy edges…something—odd…~~

"Pssssst!" Mara hissed.

Winn flinched and jerked around. She stared into the murky hovel; her sharp glance absorbed a frightening scene: there, squatting in shadow, was a crone-like woman, festooned in sodden rags, greasy yellow-white hair framing a ravaged, though strong-featured, face. Bright, yellow eyes, glazed with the varnish of old age and probable senility, stared back at her—into her. Lips tightening, Winn made as though to back away.

"Stop!" Mara shrilled, reaching out with a gnarled, spotted claw. "Stop…yes."

Winn's eyes narrowed, but she stopped. "What? What do you want?"

Mara paused, thought, mumbled to herself. Then her head jerked up and she gazed almost lucidly at Winn. "Want? I?" She shook her head slowly, craftily. "I don't think it is I who wants…" Winn's eyes widened fractionally, "…something. I think—yes, I do—that it is *you* who wants…something." Mara sighed. "What do you want, I wonder—wonder I do…"

"I don't th—"

"…that you want *something.*" Mara gazed up at her, at her eyes. "There is something about the eyes…frightened, are you? Not of I. Who then, Winn? Something happened, did it? With a—boy? Yes. Yes, it was a *boy*…"

Winn drew in her breath harshly, and murmured quietly, "How do you know my name—my name—How did you know? And about the—boy?"

Mara chortled gleefully. "How do I know?" Her odd, yellow eyes narrowed. "I know. I lay curled in the womb and I *knew*." Her eyes cleared, brightened. "There is something, Winn…about you…he is strange, yes? And," Mara's lips twisted eagerly, "he is *cruel*?"

Winn opened her mouth, but no sound came.

"Yes, yes…I knew. He is strange, he is cruel—he is your *soulmate*?"

Again, Winn could not speak.

"Eh? Hee hee! I knew it—I knew!" She licked her lips. "I know what you want, Winn…'deed I do." She ducked closer, whispered conspiratorially, "Freedom? You would be free of—*him*? Yes, yes. I will rip him—rip him with my nails…my lovely nails—" Her cheeks flushed excitedly. "I can free you, Winn. From him. Would you like that? Winn?"

Winn was trembling, but not from fear, not from anxiety—from what? She shook herself. What was she thinking? This—hag—was mad. Insane. ~~But what if I could get rid of him?~~ she wondered, involuntarily. ~~He would be *gone*…~~  Staring at a point somewhere above the woman's left shoulder she thought back briefly to just hours before; running away; she saw, too vividly, Ruan's terrible, white, perfect face smiling so softly, mildly, fearsomely at her; she felt, with a tremor, the soft, dry perfection of his lips pressed, unconsciously, against the corner of her mouth. And, most profoundly—most terribly—she heard those words echoing, the clamor building in intensity, in her brain—

~~[I can control you, Winn…I can control you….Winn…I can control…you…Winn…]~~

With a sudden jerk, Winn met the woman's gleaming yellow-ochre gaze. "*Yes,*" she whispered.

Mara's smile was small and sharp. "Give me your hand, dearie. Just so. Ah," she sighed, holding Winn's pale, bony fingers in her own gnarled fist. "So pretty. Pretty hands, pretty. I had pretty hands too, once…" She frowned. "I was beautiful! You wouldn't think it now—no, no—but I was pretty enough. Enough…"

While the old woman mumbled, Winn closed her eyes. ~~When *he's* gone…when he is gone...I'll leave Melas! I'll go to New York, or—I'll go away. He doesn't *control* me.~~ Her eyelids twitched. ~~Will he be—dead? Dead.~~ In a burst of color and touch, she recalled the feel of his dry, sensuous mouth against her skin. Eyes snapping open, she suddenly became aware that her cheeks were burning and that her skin was painfully sensitive; her senses felt like great, tender wounds—so finely tuned they stung.

Mara frowned. The girl wasn't listening—the stupid, silly chicklet! Staring with that brainless, dazed gawp. Stupid girl. With a muffled growl she tugged sharply at the girl's lax hand, effectively jerking her out of her waking trance.

Startled and irritated, nerve endings in her fingers zinging wildly, Winn returned her attention to the woman.

"You must listen, always!" the woman insisted querulously, jerking on her hand once more for good measure—she was surprisingly strong. "If you want *him* gone, you must always listen…or you will have regrets, and many of them!" She paused, looking up at Winn with a thoughtful expression on her thin, wrinkled face. "So. First, I will tell you…my name." She grinned furtively, and continued, "My name is…Mara. Mara Paskoff…is my name." She nodded sagely. "Secondly, we must discuss payment. Yes, yes. Vulgar, yes, I know. Don't you think I know this? I do. So, girl, what do I want? Hmm?"

Winn gazed back at the bright, almost feverish, yellow eyes, and shook her head.

"Don't you know, chicklet?" Mara smiled a secret little smile and beckoned Winn closer. "Closer, closer…yes." Speaking into Winn's ear, she whispered conspiratorially, "I want the *boy.*"

Winn shivered at the hot breath in her ear. "The boy?"

"*The boy*! I want the boy! You will bring him, chicklet…yes, you will…to me. Now then. Shall we begin, chicklet?"

Winn didn't answer.

"Winn…pretty Winn. You must bring him to me *first*...yes." Mara shook her hand.

"Yes," Winn muttered. "Fine."

"Goodbye, then, chicklet. For now." Mara looked away from the girl's dark wound-like eyes and released the pale hand.

"For now," Winn conceded softly, walking slowly away.

* * *

Where was she? Ruan's face was sharp, perfect, and without expression. She'd wandered off again.

He glided down a hall in the dusky backrooms of the club, and thought back…She'd thought he was unconscious…he was not. Eyes flashing, he recalled the nervous, frightened tremor that perpetually shook her slight body—she was always so fearful…He remembered how her fragile face had quivered against his mouth…

"Hello."

Tense, Ruan whipped around—his skin prickled from the wave-like aura of power that approached—and then relaxed. "Hello, Shelley."

Shelley grinned, her wonderfully homely face brightening almost to beauty. "So, *Ruan*, I hear you and your friend have joined us."

"So soon?"

"You know what they say: tête-à-tête is anathema to secrets."

Ruan smiled slightly. "Like video to radio stars?"

"Precisely."

Smile fading, he murmured, "Shelley…"

"Still here."

"Really? Have you seen my friend, Shelley?"

"I believe I saw the back of her head…Tiny, lots of curly, black hair, correct?"

"Sure. Did you see where she was going?"

"Out the door. That's all I saw…Why, Ruan, has your princess fair done gone and escaped?" She looked questioningly up at him.

Ruan fixed his icy gaze on her large, grey eyes. She shivered and thought she wouldn't be surprised if he had that effect on most everyone. He smiled gently, but she saw something not quite—benign—glint in those lovely, frosted irises. Pretending she saw nothing amiss, Shelley shrugged, smiling wryly, and left him to himself.

Face once more in its usual stoic repose, Ruan turned a corner and strolled through yet another dim corridor. He wondered whether Winn would return…recalling the intense terror plastered across her ash-colored face, he doubted it. He had an inkling she was used to running away. A tiny frown appeared for an instant between his brows; he would have to find her, bring her back…it sounded familiar.

~~She's mine, I suppose, but she's not *mine*…Why have you wandered away, Winn?~~

He stopped walking and leaned against the chilled, glossy wall. If he could train her, if he could *fix* her…He was tired of Lif's diluted brand of control. If he could train Winn to harness her power, provided it was what he thought it was, they could leave the Marquéd and Lif would have no power against them. He didn't want Winn, but if they were bound, he recognized the danger of leaving her to her own ends. Her lot was his lot; sure, it was selfish—but he never pretended he wasn't. With Winn's safety—if not sanity—were ensured, he could leave the Marquéd…go somewhere new…do something different. It was true, what he had told Red. He needed a change.

Please do review, comment, expound existentialist and stoic philosophy, whatever…I love it all…and best of all, if you review, I'll not only erect a super shiny obelisk for you—I'll give you a scary bunny too! : )