Eli: Hey all! Sorry it took so long. RL got to me. Fine, Chaosti, you win.
Sara will not drink anymore coffee for a while. Belovedone, loved the new
chapter to STLD! I will practice my patience for more of your writing.
Sorry, Thelma, no kitchen cleaning :( Cassandra, *shrugs* not much I can
do. Go read another story, no one is making you get upset over my stuff.
BTW, someone left a note for you in the review section. (Owl, was that
necessary? Nice to see you up and about, though.) Anyway, thanks for all
the reviews! Here's the next chapter, Enjoy!
Kenneth Irons sat in his chair before the fire. He spent many nights like this now. He had handed his business over to the younger ones five years ago. He was still the one that made all the profits, so it didn't mean anything to not work everyday.
He remembered this house as a place that never sleeps. Servants, guests, business men. There was always someone stirring. At least there used to be.
The mansion was so quiet now.
Ever since Dominic's departure, the whole place had been silent. A tomb? No, a requiem. No life was here, save his own. Did that even really count as life anymore? He wasn't sure.
The boy was with the wielder, or wielders he should say. They were sheltering him now that he had no home to stay in. He was not coming back, they wouldn't let him. And he did not wish to.
He turned from the fire briefly to glance at the calendar. He remembered circling the day's date. ~April 7~. There was a hint of grim satisfaction on his face as he reverted his gaze back to the flames.
~ "Your time has ended, m'dear."
"No, you can't! You wouldn't! How could you even conceive of doing this?!"
"I have always dreamed of doing this. You were just too blinded to notice."
"Why?"
"Did you really think I could stand back and play consort to you?"
"But you can not wield! You know that all too well. You could never control"
"Nor can I control you. I'm sorry it had to end like this, but this is my will. My destiny."
"Noooooooooooooooooo!" ~
So many years ago, and yet he could remember it as if it was yesterday. He rose from his chair and walked to the far corner of the room. He grabbed the great tapestry that rested against the wall and pulled it open.
Elizabeth. As young and as beautiful as she was then. Resting gracefully on her couch. A human equivalent to the fountain of Youth. How ironic he had cast her aside as she lived, but was so dependent on her now that she was dead. His life, which was a weary candle simple waiting to be put out, only continued because of that blood. But now his well had run dry and had no other source. All he had was what he could collect from his granddaughter. The young blood was powerful and would keep him for the time.
Till he could get the rest of it.
He came over to the shelf and took a glass off of it. He grabbed a bottle of Champaign and filled his glass. He looked over at Elizabeth, raised the glass slightly, and smirked. "Happy anniversary, Elizabeth." He took a drink.
"Why thank you, Kenneth."
Irons spit out the liquid from his throat. He gasped for air and turned around. Elizabeth stood before him, seemingly alive and well. She tilted her head and smiled mischievously. "Not expecting me?"
"You are dead." She shrugged.
"Part of me is. Another can never really die." She told him. He shook his head at her.
"Apparition, do not taunt me. Go off to whatever else you do. I have long sense buried you."
"I do not believe being sealed in ice is a proper grave." He shrugged and turned away from her. She continued on, knowing he would listen whether he was looking at her or not. "Nor does the witchblade. She is angry. And so am I."
"Hell hath no fury like a woman scorned. Really, Lizzie. If I wished to hear you banter on, I would not have killed you." He answered. He turned to view her dead body. His mouth dropped when it was gone. He turned back to her. She smiled.
"I told you she was angry. I would think you would have learned not to upset your mistress by now, Kenneth."
"I have no mistress." He stated angrily as he threw his glass at her, expecting it to go right through. He was surprised when she caught it and threw it back at his feet. "How?"
"I'll never tell." She told him mockingly. She began to move closer to him. He could not stand his ground against her. He moved backward away from her. "Kenneth Irons, you have been judged and have been found guilty by your mistress."
"I have no-" He yelled out.
"Silence! You were marked by her, like a slave to his queen. You killed me, took what was mine, and used my body, my temple, as your own. And more, you handed the witchblade to not one, but two pretenders. And most of all, you tried to ruin what good the witchblade did do. You attacked my decedents, and you touched my little great great great granddaughter. Of all this you are sentenced."
Kenneth was now flat against the block of ice, trembling from both great cold and great fear. Elizabeth stood before him and placed a hand on his forehead. She smiled sweetly.
"Happy Anniversary, Kenneth."
-Two weeks later-
"This morning, billionaire Kenneth Irons was laid to rest in his family's private cemetery in Germany. Mourners for his death included-"
Ian shut the television off. Bethany saw how upset he was and quietly walked over and gave him a hug.
"It's alright, Daddy."
"I know, I know." He told. "But I still do not believe he got what he deserved."
"He died in failure, if that makes you feel any better." She told him. He didn't answer. "Daddy, you promised the other day that you would take me to the church with Joan in it. Can we go today?"
He looked down at her. "Yeah, we can."
-Later-
They walked to the church. Bethany held his hand, even though it made her feel little. With her free hand, she made noise on fences and put cracks in bricks. She pulled a flower up from someone's window garden. She still had it when they got to the church.
Ian had her sit down in one of the pews. There were a few others in the church, but they were lined up for confession. She stared at the painting with intrigue. She studied the background, the battle. Over half an hour, she was sure she knew the story.
She would have stayed for longer, but Ian told her it was time to go. After three promises to take her back, they finally exited the church. They passed the graveyard and Bethany felt the eye of the witchblade heat up. She let go of his hand and ran through the gates. Ian ran after her.
She ran till spotted a grave with newly loose soil. She stopped and stared at it. Ian came up behind her.
"Bethany Marie Nottingham, I hope you have a good-" He looked at the grave. "Explanation?" They both read the name over and over again.
Elizabeth Charla Bronte
"Grandmother Lizzie." Bethany whispered. She placed the flower down in front of the headstone. She stood beside her Father, and he rested a hand on her shoulder. As everyone else pretended to be sorrowful at the death of Irons, they stood before Elizabeth's grave truly sad. The only mourners for the forgotten wielder.
Coming Attractions:
The Hunt
Kenneth Irons sat in his chair before the fire. He spent many nights like this now. He had handed his business over to the younger ones five years ago. He was still the one that made all the profits, so it didn't mean anything to not work everyday.
He remembered this house as a place that never sleeps. Servants, guests, business men. There was always someone stirring. At least there used to be.
The mansion was so quiet now.
Ever since Dominic's departure, the whole place had been silent. A tomb? No, a requiem. No life was here, save his own. Did that even really count as life anymore? He wasn't sure.
The boy was with the wielder, or wielders he should say. They were sheltering him now that he had no home to stay in. He was not coming back, they wouldn't let him. And he did not wish to.
He turned from the fire briefly to glance at the calendar. He remembered circling the day's date. ~April 7~. There was a hint of grim satisfaction on his face as he reverted his gaze back to the flames.
~ "Your time has ended, m'dear."
"No, you can't! You wouldn't! How could you even conceive of doing this?!"
"I have always dreamed of doing this. You were just too blinded to notice."
"Why?"
"Did you really think I could stand back and play consort to you?"
"But you can not wield! You know that all too well. You could never control"
"Nor can I control you. I'm sorry it had to end like this, but this is my will. My destiny."
"Noooooooooooooooooo!" ~
So many years ago, and yet he could remember it as if it was yesterday. He rose from his chair and walked to the far corner of the room. He grabbed the great tapestry that rested against the wall and pulled it open.
Elizabeth. As young and as beautiful as she was then. Resting gracefully on her couch. A human equivalent to the fountain of Youth. How ironic he had cast her aside as she lived, but was so dependent on her now that she was dead. His life, which was a weary candle simple waiting to be put out, only continued because of that blood. But now his well had run dry and had no other source. All he had was what he could collect from his granddaughter. The young blood was powerful and would keep him for the time.
Till he could get the rest of it.
He came over to the shelf and took a glass off of it. He grabbed a bottle of Champaign and filled his glass. He looked over at Elizabeth, raised the glass slightly, and smirked. "Happy anniversary, Elizabeth." He took a drink.
"Why thank you, Kenneth."
Irons spit out the liquid from his throat. He gasped for air and turned around. Elizabeth stood before him, seemingly alive and well. She tilted her head and smiled mischievously. "Not expecting me?"
"You are dead." She shrugged.
"Part of me is. Another can never really die." She told him. He shook his head at her.
"Apparition, do not taunt me. Go off to whatever else you do. I have long sense buried you."
"I do not believe being sealed in ice is a proper grave." He shrugged and turned away from her. She continued on, knowing he would listen whether he was looking at her or not. "Nor does the witchblade. She is angry. And so am I."
"Hell hath no fury like a woman scorned. Really, Lizzie. If I wished to hear you banter on, I would not have killed you." He answered. He turned to view her dead body. His mouth dropped when it was gone. He turned back to her. She smiled.
"I told you she was angry. I would think you would have learned not to upset your mistress by now, Kenneth."
"I have no mistress." He stated angrily as he threw his glass at her, expecting it to go right through. He was surprised when she caught it and threw it back at his feet. "How?"
"I'll never tell." She told him mockingly. She began to move closer to him. He could not stand his ground against her. He moved backward away from her. "Kenneth Irons, you have been judged and have been found guilty by your mistress."
"I have no-" He yelled out.
"Silence! You were marked by her, like a slave to his queen. You killed me, took what was mine, and used my body, my temple, as your own. And more, you handed the witchblade to not one, but two pretenders. And most of all, you tried to ruin what good the witchblade did do. You attacked my decedents, and you touched my little great great great granddaughter. Of all this you are sentenced."
Kenneth was now flat against the block of ice, trembling from both great cold and great fear. Elizabeth stood before him and placed a hand on his forehead. She smiled sweetly.
"Happy Anniversary, Kenneth."
-Two weeks later-
"This morning, billionaire Kenneth Irons was laid to rest in his family's private cemetery in Germany. Mourners for his death included-"
Ian shut the television off. Bethany saw how upset he was and quietly walked over and gave him a hug.
"It's alright, Daddy."
"I know, I know." He told. "But I still do not believe he got what he deserved."
"He died in failure, if that makes you feel any better." She told him. He didn't answer. "Daddy, you promised the other day that you would take me to the church with Joan in it. Can we go today?"
He looked down at her. "Yeah, we can."
-Later-
They walked to the church. Bethany held his hand, even though it made her feel little. With her free hand, she made noise on fences and put cracks in bricks. She pulled a flower up from someone's window garden. She still had it when they got to the church.
Ian had her sit down in one of the pews. There were a few others in the church, but they were lined up for confession. She stared at the painting with intrigue. She studied the background, the battle. Over half an hour, she was sure she knew the story.
She would have stayed for longer, but Ian told her it was time to go. After three promises to take her back, they finally exited the church. They passed the graveyard and Bethany felt the eye of the witchblade heat up. She let go of his hand and ran through the gates. Ian ran after her.
She ran till spotted a grave with newly loose soil. She stopped and stared at it. Ian came up behind her.
"Bethany Marie Nottingham, I hope you have a good-" He looked at the grave. "Explanation?" They both read the name over and over again.
Elizabeth Charla Bronte
"Grandmother Lizzie." Bethany whispered. She placed the flower down in front of the headstone. She stood beside her Father, and he rested a hand on her shoulder. As everyone else pretended to be sorrowful at the death of Irons, they stood before Elizabeth's grave truly sad. The only mourners for the forgotten wielder.
Coming Attractions:
The Hunt