Santanico gets all the cyber cookies for correctly naming the song Medea sang in Chapter 6 as "A Stray Child" from the .HackSign soundtrack.
I'm actually taking a slight refresher course in English though it is my very first writing class other than the basic Literature and grammar (taught by instructors who knew even less than I did) I received in high school. So hopefully my grammar will improve and I won't make as my typos as I do.
But on the down side I think Puck (my computer) is about to die.
Chapter 8
Knowing that people you have come to care for was in trouble and no matter how much you wished to you couldn't help them was a frustrating obstacle indeed.
Each second felt critical, and each second wastes was like another grain of sand in an hourglass falling against them.
The red speedster quickly paced to and fro before the coffee machine; a cup of coffee in one hand and a pack of Oreo cookies in the other. Try as he might to turn the situation over and over again in his mind, trying to see the reason behind the chaos loving child's antics, he could find nothing to aid in their musings.
They had contacted everyone that they knew of who might have the slightest inkling of what was going on, but alas even they admitted to being just as confused as they were. The best they could get was a promise from Zatanna that she would check the Ethernet for them for any floating rumors.
What did a few gems, both expensive and some meager jewels that could be found in an ordinary jewelry store, have in common? Why would he send a black winged sorceress bursting with unpredictable powers after them?
None of it made any sense and it was driving the team, or what was left of it, insane.
This was how Klarion liked things.
Medea wasn't there, that was good. Usually at the dawning hours the woman with the black wings was out someplace flying around with the crippled crow, feeding the rest of those lazy little scavengers that awful mess of offal meats and hard boiled eggs. But it did fatten them up quite nicely.
Birds, birds, birds, they were nothing really but a tasty little treat. They were a pleasant hunt, a small challenge since they are so keen to fly away at the slightest disturbance.
Moving covertly through the dark of the halls up into the stairwell that lead upwards into the attic loft a pair of eerie green eyes focused upon the door, left slightly ajar, just ahead.
A rough pink tongue darted out to lick with anticipation across her fur rimmed mouth. It was fun to stalk those feathery winged meals as they sat in what they believed were their safe little nests protected by that magic wielding bitch.
It was still dark, only as dark as the early morn made it for J'onn noticed that his captor wasn't one to keep her windows closed unless she was present in her home to do so herself. She did so like for her 'pets' or better noted as her friends to come and go to nest as they pleased. He could expect the same routine of her feeding the various birds gathered outside before coming to share her company with him for the morning hour.
J'onn wasn't so surprised when he came upon the revelation that he didn't quiet mind her company; she spoke little and could easily sit in the stillness comfortably with him, their empathic powers easily speaking volumes in their silence.
The moment they spent in lulled silence was somewhat golden, Medea preening her massive wings while the radio played old talk radio shows of mellow voiced detectives speaking in a Noir narrative. He actually enjoyed those detective stories, she must have known for she always had it on just in time for him to hear.
Upon hearing the door of the attic squeak softly as something small and lithe forced it farther open from its cracked position he turned his orange eyes to watch the feline silhouette of Teekl, saunter into the room.
The naked rafters above burst with life as the birds above head cawed and squawked from their perches sending down warnings upon the feline, daring her to come near their nest and young.
Oh she would heed their cautions this time around, for she could sink her teeth into any of them anytime she pleased. But the prize she sought was something else, something new, something green.
Medea was still out, out on her mission to get the ruby. She wouldn't, couldn't make it home in time to save her precious green prisoner. It was too simple of a hunt.
She eyed the doll house, spying the Martian within staring back at her, caution playing over his usually stoic features.
The game seemed more entertaining when the quarry knows it is being hunted. It's the way their hearts race with fear that made it so enjoyable. With little effort she jumped from the floor onto the table top just aside the little house. Teekl's face stretched back, her ears pressing flat on her head as a sharp hiss sprung from her throat. The Martian sprung forth from his place racing away from the large orange cat, running, racing away with his little cape flying behind him.
Moving behind the house knocking it to the ground in her actions, Teekl perused a catty smile upon her face.
The crows watched the scene from above, screeching and cawing down upon the intruding cat.
Moving to the side just in time J'onn dodged the cat's advances phasing through the surface of the desk onto the floor.
He was prepared to run, to escape once and for all when the ground shook just as Teekl jumped down, landing in his path of escape. She looked about briefly before her eyes focused upon the cornered alien.
If it was possible to see a cat grin, then surely Teekl had managed one that surpassed the smile of the Cheshire cat itself. Lowering her head, her green eyes narrowed upon him, she stalked nearer with slow intimidating steps, her small tongue peeking out to lick across her lip showing a glint of sharp teeth.
He was cornered; he would have to battle the large magical beast as best he could given his overall small size.
With a final roll of her shoulders Teekl pounced-
A hand elegantly long with abnormal bony fingers, unnaturally so compared to others', wrapped firmly around Teekl's neck snatching her from the air just as she was mere inches from attacking.
"I've told you before," Medea hissed beneath her breath drawing the cat upwards until they were leveled, looking each other directly in the eyes. "Never come into my room or I'll help you lose some of those nine lives of yours."
Without another thought Medea heaved the cat out the open window uncaring how she managed to land on her feet, or how Teekl hissed upwards towards her window with malice before making her way back inside to her master.
Walking back into the house with a certain stride that spoke nothing of her embarrassing dismissal Teekl silently thought against the woman in that attic. Oh she could care for her master all she liked but she would never be able to take her place. If she were in her more humanoid form Teekl would have grinned, she knew that with one slight miscalculation on the sorceress's part, one day she would push her so-called 'power' with Klarion too far and be turned into yet another delicious snack for her to play with and torture before taking her pleasures of consuming.
Maybe when that day came, when her little master became bored with the black winged bitch she'll take her time, crippling first one wing or an arm so that she may wobble about injured waiting for the moment death will call her. Then the next day she'll break the other and then her foot so that she could only hop about on one foot.
Yes, that's how she would do it; let her suffer hoping on one foot for a day or so before finally she would strike.
Yes and even then she'll make sure that woman would suffer. Clawing open her tiny chest and stomach, yes that would be far better than killing her quickly with a snap of her neck.
J'onn stared at the shattered segments of the broken doll house scattered on the floor before him, his poor pretty prison, his only source of sure shelter provided by his capture. Would she be cruel and leave him out to fend against her companions and the cat? She wouldn't; truly she wasn't as demented as the child she cared for was.
"Are you okay?" The soft spoken question drew J'onn from his thoughts to look up at Medea, still dressed in her criminal garb, in the colors of the very crows that inhabited her home. Her eyes looked towards him in a sidelong manner from her position at the window.
He nodded his head in the slightest of motions no one would have noticed had they not been watching for the movement.
"For the time being you'll just have to watch out for the crows until I can find somewhere else to keep you safe. I'd hate to put you in a cage but that is all I have left." She stated, not exactly towards the small green figure but rather to the air before her. Nonetheless J'onn nodded in understanding. "I'll also have to speak with Klarion about this later. Either he's being very lenient with his orders to that cat. Or I need to teach her to keep away from my things. Cats and birds." She sighed deeply stooping downwards to gather the broken pieces of the doll house. "Cats and birds."
John Steward stood at the door of the Watchtower's training room a towel draped over his shoulders reeking of the sweat he had gained from his strenuous exercise. The room boomed with the repeating sounds of something brutally crashing into a solid mass followed by the jingle of chains as they jolted with the force.
His eyes laid focused on the hawk winged woman clad in tight black sports wear harshly taking her frustrations out on the large punching bag nearly taking it off the ceiling with each blow.
Her bar-room brawl style of fighting seemed crude and far useless in actual battle, but the sheer power backing her blows made her opponents think otherwise.
She could just see that other woman's image in the place of the bag. It frustrated her how much they had gathered yet how little they knew.
Medea was merely the minion doing what that sniveling brat Klarion commanded. That was all there was to her, yet that wasn't all there was to it.
What more it angered her that it seemed impossible for her to plan a strategy against the woman who really show no desires of fighting them, just doing what her 'Master' wished.
How do you fight an enemy who doesn't present themselves as such? But merely the right hand of what truly was the enemy.
She didn't like the feeling of being left in the dark. No, it was something of a compulsive disorder developed by her training as a Thangarian soldier to know everything she needed to know, to banish the weakness that came with that element of surprise.
No, she didn't like that at all.
The morning hours went quickly by with the usual dull breakfast of sucking up to the child before escorting him to the living room to watch television, as was his duty. Theodore stood by the door ever ready to serve his new young master, watching as he sat before the television watching old Bugs Bunny cartoons and the few unbelievably violent Tom and Jerry cartoons Medea didn't really like for the boy to watch. But he was commanded by the master not his 'pet'.
And at the time his master wanted to sit before the television sipping some soda pop while his first pet, the humanoid Teekl playfully pounced on a stray black feather that had fallen from one of the crows.
There was something about the way the female feline snipped and batted the feather around that unsettled him. Perhaps it was the predatory gleam glowing in her eerie green eyes, perhaps it was the way she looked and grinned when she had the feather trapped beneath her claws, whatever the true reason he knew he was right in suspecting there was something more on the familiar's mind than just play.
Feeling his current presence in the living room was somewhat unneeded Theodore turned on his heel to make a steady retreat down the polished wooden hall, recently repaired soon after Batman's unsuccessful mission to retrieve his companions and bring his current master's plans to a halt.
As he made his way to the kitchen, baring the rustic country décor of some isolated area of the southern mountains he ignored the drawings and notes posted on the wall as his reminder, merely casting them a dissatisfied scowl as he plucked an apple from the pantry and steadily made his way out the back door.
Rolling the fruit over the cresses of his palm he wondered what exactly made him stay in the young witch's company. He would receive no special training, no real riches, or power for his provided services. So what forced him? Convinced him that it was here that he should remain?
When he thought about it he should have left the house when he had discovered the previous owner, the arrogant widow, was turn into a small rabbit and given to Teekl for her enjoyment. He remembered watching the cat stalk and tease the poor rabbit, forcing it into different corners of the room and injuring her gravely before losing interest in the demented game she played. It wasn't until a few days after that he had found a few tuffs of fur and blood leading a trail out into the yard where some of the birds stood gathered in a bunch.
As he stood watching the crows peck and squabble over what remained the realization dawned onto him that the same could be done to him if he chose to stay or not. But then even after witnessing the true extent of Klarion's power he wondered exactly why he stayed.
He paused some distance into what one would guess was the garden, or at least what once was a garden, baring no flowers except for various flowering weeds and discolored patches of grass varying from a sickly shade of green to faded brown, all surrounding the one thing that was well maintained outdoors, the brown stained gazebo.
Klarion.
Yes, Klarion was why he stayed. Because he was afraid of leaving him, afraid of what he might do. But at the same time only the deranged little witch boy and his 'pets' were the only ones who needed him for his real talents, those above mere housework duties.
Looking up with his one long eye Theodore observed the simple birdcage she usually used to keep her injured friends holding the shrunken Martian Man hunter within. He looked bored in his prison, swaying in the breeze for it hung from the hook at the archway, although his orange eyes were focused on the scene below him.
Moving past the archway he watched the figure dressed in simple navy sweat pants hugging her curving backside in an appealing fashion his view obstructed by a shift of her wings, moving slowly with the practiced grace of adjusting to her new weapon.
Those wings, he recalled receiving quiet the slap to the face when he had thoughtlessly stroked them and the dark rainbow of their feathers. A half hearted smirk tugged at the corners of his aging mouth as memory of her bottom lip jolting out in a pouting manner as she wrapped her arms about herself in a defensive manner muttering how they were 'sensitive'.
'So sensitive that the little brat could touch them whenever he felt like it?' He scowled to the wind.
"If you ever wish to sneak up on me I advise you keep your thoughts down." Medea spoke as she extended her arm straight; unwavering while twirling the end of a short black lacquered staff about ¾ the length of her arm.
How foolish he felt, once more he had let his emotional guard down about the resident empathic, "I wouldn't bother sneaking up. I have more honor than that." He countered quickly scaling the steps to stand behind her.
The action was quick, but anticipated. In a quick twirl of black rustling wings the sound of finely sharpened steel sliced through the air between them. She stood sideways with her legs twisted about from their planted position, the curving blade of the modified kusari-gama he himself had made years ago hovering a breath's way from his throat.
But he did not give any attention to the attentively crafted weapon aimed directly at its very maker, it did not sing for his blood, it had no thirst or blood lust just yet; in fact his eyes were focused on the dark brown depths encircled with a slowly fading ring of silver.
They were empty, almost soulless, when they gazed onto him, yet they were filled with fire for a fight and warmth for that boy. Oh how he hated the way those eyes looked at him.
"You've outdone yourself, I'll give you that much." She commented slowly withdrawing the blade and retracting it once more into the strong yet semi-hallow head of the staff. "Though it leaves me at a disadvantage given I'm use to the hand-sickle and chain."
"Think of it as nothing more than a short-staffed sickle and chain. That should ease your worry."
"Theodore, the last thing that I am is worried. I am merely off balance and do not wish for this to serve as a handicap in combat. I do so hate to rely solely on my magick."
The way she said it, it was almost like she was placing the blame of her weakness on him with that soft voice of hers. "You were taught to use all sorts of weapons without complication. It is your own fault for becoming so accustomed to one." He replied his tone just as smooth and cold as hers.
Her eyes showed no hint of the rush of anger surging through her veins, she had mastered the control of her features long ago, but he knew he had her by the way her wings bristled in a puffy sort of fashion. Without a word she turned her back towards him once more, the blade flying out to slice into an invisible opponent.
Theodore smirked victoriously at her back; she forgot she was not dealing with the child.
"I wouldn't be feeling so cocky if I were you." Medea's soft voice growled into the wind.
Correcting his error once more Theodore removed his dress shirt, "What more do you need to start this…this thing he wants?"
"Just the scepter and the emerald remains." She hissed compressing the handle of the staff and allowing a good six feet of thin but strong black cord to fall with the weight on the end. "The scepter I have found is part of a private collection of a Patience Magdalene." One flick of the wrist had the weight twirling quickly at her side, with ease she brought it above her head spinning the weight around and around with fatal force. "But we aren't concerned about that at the time being. It's the jewels I am more troubled about."
She had such an awful habit of showing disrespect to him at the slightest chance she could get. He mentally sighed, it couldn't be helped, she didn't have any proper training in etiquette not to mention the two of them did not start off well on their first meeting. But that did not mean he would tolerate her behavior.
Reaching out his hand he braced himself seconds before the weight collided into the curve of his palm. "How so?" He questioned yanking back on the cord, forcing her to look upon him for once.
"It's proving to be a bit difficult to find the emerald's exact location and I have tried nearly all of my location tricks. I wish to get it as soon as I can because they have to be cleansed and charged together at least an hour before. Any less and there might be…unwanted side-effects." She stated off-handedly with a deep sigh. "Why are you here?"
"One, to make sure you master that before the night you leave for that emerald. And two: you received a letter." His hand withdrew a simple letter from his back pants pocket.
"Well give it to me then leave me be." Medea hissed reaching out for her mail only to have it slip out of her grasp as the one-eyed man pulled the envelope away.
In turn Theodore smirked yanking the cord towards him so that her chest collided with his, "You use to enjoy sparring with me, Medea. I think you use to take such pleasure in me holding you down."
"Theodore," The harsh bite of the child's voice drew the tall man away from the black winged sorceress. "Would you like to keep the vision in your remaining eye?"
The offending hand grasping onto the cord suddenly found itself in the cool bony grasps of a claw-like hand. With a twirl, a jerk, and a quick uplifting shift of weight Theodore found his back cracking mercilessly against the floorboards of the gazebo.
"Please forgive Theodore, he forgot his place." Medea stated calmly straightening herself for her defensive stance while snatching the letter from the man's hand. "Is there anything you need, my master?"
"I would like some lunch now." Klarion stated his eyes never once leaving Theodore's stiff form even as he stood onto his feet.
Instantly the cold emotion in her face lifted with slight warmth and tenderness, "Alright, once I read my letter would you like some PB and J sandwiches?" She questioned gathering the cord of her kusari-gama into simple loops in her hand.
"Theodore will have to provide for me today. You have to find the emerald. Do you have any clue where it may be?"
"I know where to find it, my master." Medea said with a slight bow of her head.
Klarion was somewhat pleased with the information but not as much as he would have liked to be, "So what is the problem?"
"I can not pinpoint its exact location." She replied choosing her words carefully or risk upsetting him.
"Use your pendulum."
"I've tried. It seems the emerald's hiding place is far too complicated. I'll have to perform a seeking spell to find this one; it's a small risk but the only option we have left."
Without another word, save for a brief nod of approval Klarion departed to return to his cartoons with Theodore lagging behind him.
Taking a seat on the gazebo stairs Medea pulled a cigarette from the pack tucked securely into the waist of her sweat pants. Klarion had told her before that she should quit, but to whose health was it hazardous to?
Standing steadfast in his cage J'onn looked down upon the top of Medea's curly hair as she sat hunched over the letter. The feelings that rolled from her were one of saddened joy and warmth, the sort of warmth he recalled when his family was still alive.
An image of a man holding some resemblance to the woman flashed through his mind along with the attachment to her and more, something even the sorceress was not aware of stretching out like a line moving farther and farther until it stopped suddenly on the woman's book, the Morrum.
Shaking the indistinguishable thoughts from his mind he spoke, "You and your brother love each other very dearly."
Medea looked away from her letter to the cage above her head. "Yes, he always took care of me when we were children. Wolfie's the only one in my family who knows what is going on with me."
Reading the name on the envelop as Travis J'onn felt somewhat confused, this did not follow the usual human trait of nicknames, usually a name was derived in some fashion from the original name, shortening in some fashion to make a new one. "I am curious, why do you address him as 'Wolfie'?"
Folding the finished letter into half she tucked it into the side of her waist band. "One day when we were young my mother thought we both needed a personal symbol to call our own." She reached upwards carefully taking the cage from the hook before moving gracefully into the large house, "Travis, strong and independent yet loyal to his family, was given a wolf pendent."
"And why are you the angel?" He questioned also aware of Travis addressing her as Angel in the greeting of his letter.
"When I was little I was always taking care of injured birds, I always wanted wings of my own because of it. Once my mother brought me a pair of white wings meant for a Halloween costume. I wore it until all the plastic feathers fell off. That's when my family started calling me Angel. I had always dreamed of making enough money to buy some land and have a bird sanctuary dedicated to my grandmother. But life always throws something horrid your way."
He understood to some extent the sudden bitterness underlining her emotions, her life wasn't always dark, just merely tainted with the gift yet the curse of being the involuntary receiver of the emotions of others.
How many times did he have to suffer this same burden on this world? The human mind just seemed to broadcast more or rather he was more receptive to the human mind. They were merely less trained with the control of their thoughts and emotions, primitive in a sense but surely after a few hundred years they would be able to handle it just as he had.
Maybe it would take even less time than he thought given that evolution brought about a strong bloodline such as Medea's who with each birth brought about someone with one of those skills and then some.
But that was how it was with the rest of this confusing world; every once in awhile a human would produce a child who was empathic, telepathic, and so on, some never learning to control their 'gift' while some lose it.
It was of no wonder it would be viewed more as a curse for someone so untrained, so green to it all.
Arriving into her room Medea set the cage down upon her desk, nodding moments before J'onn pushed the door open and stepped out to stand in the open. He watched with stoic interest as Medea shooed the birds from the room and out the window.
"Since you're not a child or my pet I guess it wouldn't hurt to let you stay while I do this." Medea spoke softly closing the latch of the window then moving to lock the door.
She moved a large wooden chest from the foot of her bed to the center of the room angling it in a certain position until it suited her needs.
Sighing she opened the truck, obstructing his view of what its innards contained until she began removing candles, a small bowl, and a velvet pouch. It wasn't long before the alter was set.
Medea sat kneeled at the small alter of candles, joss sticks and small items consisting of some stones, flower peddles, feathers, an earthen bowl full of water, and the stolen gems. She whispered incoherent words into the air while laying a map print of some sort before the alter.
J'onn watched in utter fascination, for the few chances he had to actually watch someone perform their spells and magick never had he seen so much go into it.
She struck a match and lit one pure white candle, "Guiding flame, be my beckon and lead me on my safe return." Picking up one of the feathers she set the tip aflame with one of the other candles and brought the fire down onto the small plate of flowers sending it all up into a large blanket of smoke.
Taking a pen into her hand in a death-like grip she poised the map beneath the pen's point. Leaning forwards she took a deep breath of the smoke as she would her cigarettes and exhaled a long breathe of pure milky white miasma. As the breathe left her small body her dark eyes clouded over with creamy white instead of the usual shine of silver and her dark hair turned the color of fresh snow and straightened itself of its curls.
When the last wisp of smoke left her frame her body fell ungracefully backwards onto the floor with a low thud, the pen never leaving its position from above the map. Standing beside the bars of his cage a dreadful realization came upon him; there was no life in the body that lay before him unceremoniously on the hard wood floor of the attic.
One by one the candles flickered madly before their flames were doused the streams of smoke floating then slipping through the vents just as the cloud had done, all save for that one white candle.
The small clock mounted on the desk softly chimed the hour altering the air and the alien of the new hour. For nearly two hours Medea's seemingly lifeless body laid on the floor, unblinking eyes opened in an unseeing stare. She was seemingly lifeless for the simple fact her left hand moved briskly a top the map drawing out an ever changing line and from time to time jotting down small unreadable notes. But then the pen had ceased moving a half hour ago and the hand that once held it like a lifeline let it fall to the floor to roll unnoticed beneath the bed.
Before the clock could turn to the half hour the familiar cloud of white miasma fluttered into the room via the very rusted vent it had used to escape. Floating down to the still frame of the woman laid upon the floor with her wings hidden away, it touched down gently upon her lips with the grace of a butterfly.
It tickled across those slightly parted pale lips, as is teasing her with a chaste kiss a callow virgin might bestow upon a love.
Whatever the actions were meant to do it stirred a shallow breath from the practical corpse of the woman, drawing the thin vapors of the cloud slowly into her mouth and lungs. With each tiny breath she took of the mist the more the pigment in her skin regained and the deeper the inhalations grew.
All was going quite well until a mad gust of wind blew into the side of the house filling the air with the moaning protest of the wood and shutters as they resisted nature's force. The flame burning on the wick of the white candle flickered wildly when the chilled gale rushed through the vent before dieing unable to withstand its glow. All that remained of the fire that once glowed so brightly like a beckon of hope was the gray wisp of smoke swirling in the circulating air of the attic.
A sound akin to a backwards death rattle vibrated from her chest as fits seized her limp body. The cloud of life she had released wasn't completely returned to her, J'onn realized feeling hopeless as he watched Medea still a slight color of ashen gray slam her fist repeatedly into the floor as her legs kicked, and her head shook from side to side in an unbelievably quick pace all in a frenzied fit. All the while that horrible gasping sound would not cease.
Her banging motions knocked various items off the simple shelves of the bookcase, causing them to topple onto the floor in a mess of books, pictures, and her favorite music box. The music box's lid twisted from its hinges filling the air with that brilliant yet heart heavy song.
Someone tried to open the locked open, but the bolt was strong, very strong. It was not long before the chaos in the room was accompanied by the frantic banging on the door and two distinct voices crying out for the fitful woman.
"Medea!" Theodore's thick voice shouted above his loud pounding. "Medea, what's going on? Open this damn door this instant!"
"Medea! Theodore, get the door open." Klarion's muted voice spoke through the soil surface.
"I can't!" The door jolted as though a heavy force was rammed against it. "She has a fucking spell on it."
"Medea! Medea!" Klarion called again.
Standing in his place somewhat shocked into silence J'onn watched the scene unable to do anything to assist. He could try to light the candle again; yes he could do that…but how?
J'onn's eyes shot to the book to his side, that spell book he had seen cradled to Medea's chest like some treasure. Yes the book, it was connected to her somehow. Surely it could save her.
"You must be able to do something to save her." J'onn spoke aloud. To his great surprise he felt a great urgency pulsate from the book, he felt emotions flowing from its bindings just as he did any other living creature.
Was it alive?
As if obeying his words the book's cover parted from the crème colored pages emitting an ethereal glow J'onn could not quiet explain, but given the current goings on it wasn't all that surprising.
The glow arched from the page's illuminated words taking on a distinct and transparent human form, a somewhat burly man dressed in ancient garb, perhaps from the middle ages, from what he knew of human histories. Dark eyes the color of wet dirt were set a little close together above his potato shaped nose, his squared shaped face ending with a strong chin graced with a close beard men of this era wasn't prone to sport.
He moved slowly towards the frantic woman trapped somewhere in the midst of her spell gone awry, his steps graceful, and his poise and over all air spoke of someone who thought highly of themselves and expected everyone else to see this as well.
A large hand waved about in the air above them drawing the remaining vapor that had seemed to dissipate into the white cloud it had once been. Kneeling down onto one knee aside Medea's shaking head his hand floated downwards to her open gasping mouth, leading the cloud of breath down directing it into her throat.
Like a swimmer gasping loud and madly having finally reached the surface after a deep dive Medea's eyes abruptly flashed from white to silver, her hair springing back into it's tight dark curls, with a loud inhale of air her back arched from the floor giving her full life once again.
The transparent man grinned at the sight of her, grinning as a father would upon seeing his newborn child placed safely in his arms to hold for the first time. Leaning downwards his lips pressed as best they could to her now flushed round cheeks, his arms slipped beneath her figure picking her up from the floor to rock her frame slowly in a light dancing-like sway.
"Morrum." She whispered running her hand down the breaded cheek in a kindly fashion. With a sigh and a weakened groan her hand feel uselessly to her side in utter fatigue.
At last the chaos stilled...it was over.
"Medea?" Theodore called.
Still breathing deeply Medea's head rolled slowly into the direction of the door. "I'm okay. I've found the emerald, master." If her voice wasn't soft before with her near winded it was possibly impossible to hear her.
"Are you sure you're okay?" Klarion's voice tainted with genuine worry questioned with equal softness through the door.
"Yes," She smiled wishing she was strong enough to move from her spot on the
"Never use that spell again, Medea." Klarion stated from the other side of the door. "Never."
All that echoed in her weary mind was her desire to promise him that she never would do it again. But alas she had spent all of her energy and sleep desperately called for her.
As the music box went on the man, Morrum as Medea called him, continued to dance around the room in small circles, moving in time with the hauntingly sweet melancholy tune resonating in the large room.
TBC…
Oh goodness, I'm giving J'onn a slight case of Stockholm Syndrome. Hehe, that's one of the great things about the mind, it's so fragile it's amazing that we all aren't out of minds. But then again who's to say that we aren't?
Sorry for the choppy ending for this chapter, but no matter how I tried I couldn't get it to come out any better. Suggestions welcomed!
