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A word of wisdom from Griffin/Layen.

Hey, I'm Layen/griffin...I answer ta both, ya know...WEll, let's see...bout the disclaimer thing...Mavericks/hunters/sexy guys in armor and tights is
not my idea or creation, but every character in here you haven't heard about is basically mine, and this is my own individual work that I slaved over and worked my hiney off making...I'll update often...like once a week,
er something...Hope ya like it...

A word of wisdom from Griffin/Layen.

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CHAPTER 1: The memoir of a prisoner

He had been running for hours, judging by the sweat dripping down his face, matting his short silver hair. The sweaty forelocks fell into his eyes, leaving moisture that blurred his vision but did not hinder his flight to freedom. He looked over his shoulder without stopping, and fell to his knees, roots and twigs puncturing the tender flesh. He jumped to his feet, not pausing to wipe his legs clean, and began to run as fast as he possibly could. But it was not enough.
Without warning, he smacked headfirst into an invisible wall, the electronic force knocking him off his feet leaving him writhing in agony and gasping for air. He struggled to his knees, only to find a thick cord wrapped around his neck, cutting off his air and dragging him flat against the ground. He wailed loudly, begging to be released, not ashamed of crying. He was no seasoned warrior; he was just a child, a doomed child.
He lifted his head off the ground, just a few inches, and found himself looking into the purple eyes that haunted his dreams. "Won't you let me go?" he begged, tears clogging his voice as he sought for the help he could not risk hoping would come. "What have I done to you, Maverick?" He tried to keep himself from adding venom to the last word, but he felt sure he had failed as a grim smile spread across the monster's face, spreading until it crinkled the demon's purple eyes.
"It isn't that you've done something wrong, boy. It's what you have not done yet, that we must have you. You are needed for...something." The boy burst into sobs before the cord at his neck cut of his air, ending his weeping. A blow aimed at his gut left him gasping for the air he could not find. He struggled against the noose, loosing the battle as he faded in and out of consciousness. The searing pain beneath his chest burned through his body to his spine. He winced and his eyes opened wide in surprise as he felt a needle slip into his flesh through his thick shirt, the fluid tranquilizing him as it was being injected.
"You bastard..." his words drifted off, fading into the night as the black sky opened up and began to pour thick blankets of rain on the world. Like tears.

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"Ceric, come here, son." The woman held out a tray of brown disks, dark cones melding onto the brown surface. She grinned widely, cheer spreading across her face as Ceric reached out and gripped one. "I made cookies, son." Ceric grinned up at the woman, his mother, and she ran a hand through his hair, twirling one of the locks around her finger idly. "You're hair's so soft. I wonder why it's silver, though."
"Cuz silver's pretty, mommy!" Ceric giggled and jerked his head out of his mother's grip, dancing around her like a butterfly, flitting from side to side. A door slammed behind him, and he craned his neck around to see who had come inside. A tall man stood in the doorway, his hat in his hand. He ran his free hand over his face, seemingly unaware of the boy's attentiveness to his actions. He put his brown hat on one of the brass hooks hanging on the wooden plank by the door and looked up, a sleepy grin spreading across his face as his eyes scanned the pair before him.
"Ceric, what are you doing here! Aren't you supposed to be at school?" He chuckled softly when Ceric glowered and muttered something about being sick. "These cookies smell good, Sen. Did Ceric help you bake them?" To emphasize his point, he sniffed the air loudly, grinning widely as the fumes seemed into his nostrils.
"Of course not, Pol. He's been sick all day." Sen winked at her son, and grinned at her husband. "Come here, Pol. We need to talk about something..." Ceric looked at his mother and a frown replaced his innocent grin, mirroring his mother's. Whenever she frowned, he knew her heart was breaking each time: she never frowned unless something serious had happened. Ceric could not believe the different personalities of his mother: one second she was the happiest woman in the world, and the next...she would spend days on end weeping.
Pol looked at Sen, concern alight in his eyes, and Ceric headed for the door, already aware of what was coming. Sure enough, Pol's words followed him out the door, "Ceric, why don't you go up in your room, and your mother and I will come up as soon as we've finished talking." Ceric mouthed the words as his father spoke them; they often spoke alone in the kitchen when his father came home from work. He could not remember a day when the three of them ate dinner as soon as his father came in the room.
Ceric shut his door gently, not wanting to disturb the conversation that was undoubtedly underway in the kitchen. He ran towards his bed and flopped down heavily on his soft bed. He held up the picture that lay face down on his bedside table and stared at it as tears rushed to his eyes.
A beautiful woman with long blond hair held up a purple parasol behind her head, her pink kimono clinging to her body. Her arm was linked with the arm of the man beside her with short black hair, cheerful grins wide on their faces. Two children stood in front of them, a boy with short- cropped silver hair grinning happily with his arm wrapped around a slightly shorter body. He was hugging his sister. Her hair was silver, like his, but held a hint of blonde, like her mother's. The two children were hugging and smiling widely; they were not posing for a picture like their parents. They were acting and standing like they usually did. The camera was the only planned thing about their picture.
Ceric slammed the picture on his table, brow creasing angrily, not caring as he heard the crunch of breaking glass. He closed his eyes and held out his hand, almost able to feel the long soft hair so like his own in coloring. Tears pricked the corners of his eyes and trailed down his cheeks, the moistness reminding him of soft lips that belonged to a girl his own age, the mirror image of him...
"Stop it, Ceric!!!" He yelled at himself, not caring if he disturbed his parents' conversation. He was thinking about her again. "Don't think about her. If you do, you'll never forget her." His thoughts constantly darted back to the girl he loved more than himself. The girl who had been stolen from him while he slept. The young girl whose heart that overflowed with love for him had stopped as they both slept. The girl he hadn't even said goodbye to. The girl he hadn't seen alive for years. The girl who was his sister.
It had been five years since Layen had left him, stealing his life when as a replacement for her own lost life. His parents had whisked her lifeless body from him before he had been given the chance to say goodbye. "It would only upset you, son. It's the best thing. Just be strong, it'll be okay." His mother had told him that through her tears, failing at convincing him it was not going to be okay. He had spent days staring at every picture of Layen before he locked them in the attic, away from his eyes that were eager to drink just a glimpse of his Layen. She had died when she was only seven. He had been eight.