Salamander?...
She looks peaceful when she's asleep. I thought to myself as I glanced over the sleeping mage. We were on the top floors on one of the warehouses along the route to Stamford. When we got here she was still asleep, probably because the sleeping spell I cast on her a few hours ago has not completely worn out yet.
She was sleeping in a corner across the room. I covered her with a few blankets, and rolled up a extra one for a pillow. I sat on the other side, my back leaned against the wall. Thinking, I sighed. I wished this never had happened. I never wanted to kidnap her. But the situation is desperate.
I was not wearing that damned hood anymore. She was sleep, so I did not have to worry about appearance. I gazed towards her once more. My duffle bag was not far from her. I crawled over to it and dragged it back to my original spot.
I quietly opened the bag revealing some items that I needed to bring along. I absolutely refused to leave behind. They were too precious. The first item that caught my eye immediately made my heart swell. With pain, remorse,
and love.
I carefully removed it from the bag, trying not to to cause any disturbance. Once it was free from the bag I held the cloth against my chest, close to my heart.
"I miss you." I said quietly as I buried my now tearstained face into the scale-patterned fabric. this cloth always gave me the feeling he was close by, like he never left me. I placed my father's scarf on the floor next to me.
The next item was Loke's key. I smiled, wondering if Loke was watching me currently. I removed the golden key from the bag and placed it on top of the folded scarf.
At last all there was left was a folded piece of paper. I cautiously unfolded it, a sad smile tugged on my lips. I forgot about this.
It was a painting.
On the left was beautiful mother, with big brown eyes and beautiful blonde hair, a gentle smiled on her lips as she started at her family lovingly, like nothing could ever take away her everlasting happiness. On the other side was a mischievous man with pink hair, he couldn't hide the goofy grin on his face. His focus was on tickling a child in the middle.
The child, the seven year old, looked much like her father with his spiky salmon hair, tied into pigtails, and his mischievous smile. But she also had her mother eyes and her creamy skin. She was mischievous like her father and stubborn like her mother. But she also had the strong love for those she cared about, a trait from both parents.
That little girl was me.
Her name was Nashi.
A tear fell next to the girl, staining the painting.
I put the key and scarf back into the bag and closed it. I put my hood back on and leaned back into the wall. I stared at the painting a little longer before folding it back again and holding it against my chest.
It almost felt like everything was perfect once more.
Almost.
A note from BluBeat
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