Um... Hello. Sorry this has been so late. I took a break from all of my multichapter fics to better my writing. Or I was just being lazy... Pick whichever. Anyway, while I suppose that this should technically be the third chapter I wrote it as the second. Takes place about a week/few days after Teresa met Claire. Things will be cleared up in the next few chapters (If I get them written...). Sorry if it's not that great, I haven't written (a chapter of) a multi part fic in a while.
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The sky rumbles with the sound of lightening. Rain batters the windows of an old house. Slowly, a silver shadow moves in the darkness, blending, being. Foot steps light almost silent, though the figure is carrying a sword that seemed so heavy that it must be carved from lead.
A cold flash, like that of he rain hitting the iced tin roof, and she is behind them, her white blade pressed against their pulsing veins ready to sink in like a vampire, ready to feast.
It is so easy now. Time stops for a moment, right before the finishing blow, then the cold metal slices through them as if they were air, time starts again, and they will fall, gone from the world before they even hit the ground, limbs at angles impossible in life. They forever will be silenced, the world will remain quiet.
Teresa pushes the door to the master's study open and quietly steppes in as the wind from the hall extinguishes the small flame that has been burning on a half-melted red candle, the only source of illumination in the room. A man sits in a chair at the desk, his hair graying and his face etched with lines. He watches his candle flicker and die, then turned his gaze to the door. A crash echoes through the house as he falls from his seat sending the chair to the floor as he scurries back to the dead fireplace like a cockroach.
"Your... The silver-eyed witch!"
His voice is loud, croaking and toad-like, and it makes her want to raise her blade higher, makes her want to move her feet faster, makes her want to kill. It's these people who she loathes most of all, these people who make things that destroy lives worse than any gun or sword.
"I'm sorry! I'm sorry!"
He's pleading now for his sad sad life and if it were up to her she would end it right now but for now that is not her purpose here.
"Where is it?"
Her voice is like ice, like drowning in the arctic sea.
"What do you mean? Please just spare me!"
Teresa crosses the room in a lightening flash and presses the cool silver metal to the toad-like man's sweaty neck.
"You know what I mean. Where is the Yoma. Tell me and I might let you live."
He's shaking fearfully, his eyes fixed on the sword.
"I don't have it! I swear! They took it all!"
The blade presses drawing faint lines of red.
"They?"
"The Awakened! Don't kill me please."
She lets him go and the severed head on the ground lets out a sigh of relief.
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The rain has tried desperately to wash out the red splatters and Teresa is soaked when she opens he apartment door.
The Awakened...
It was the name of a new gang involved in the illegal dealing of the drug Yoma. Yoma was dangerous yet the world still used it like it was candy. They didn't know... They didn't know what it could do.
The floor boards creak and Teresa looks up, ready to attack.
"Teresa..."
A young girl stands in the door way, and towel held lightly in her small hands and a smile on her face.
"You're soaked Teresa."
"Claire..."
Claire slowly walks over and drapes the towel over Teresa's shoulders.
"You must be tired Teresa. Let's go to sleep."
And they do, curled up together with Claire held tightly in Teresa's arms.
To Teresa it seems like a memory only the roles have been reversed.
As her conciousness fades Teresa whispers a name to the nothing, a name that has been the first and last thing on her mind for ten years.
"Rosemary..."
