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This page conserves the character fiction forum of the Agora forums. The posts have been left unformatted to make it easier for users to copy them here and paste them into the new forums.

Oren Itanooren12/10/08 18:25View
Missy12/10/08 22:22View
The backstory of Vulpes.Vulpes12/11/08 01:46View
Erica KesselErica Kessel12/11/08 07:52View
Missy's Story.. a Do-over and another ChapterMissy12/11/08 22:38View
UsrBinPerl12/11/08 23:48View
oren12/11/08 23:57View
Kwekwe's BackstoryKwekwe Karu12/12/08 01:02View
UsrBinPerl12/13/08 00:35View
Eternal SunsetMissy12/13/08 12:19View
Kit Ristow12/14/08 00:01View
ShyMathys12/14/08 00:27View
MasksAlissa12/14/08 00:58View
Lorae12/14/08 01:24View
UsrBinPerl12/14/08 22:07View
Missy's Story Continued..Part 3Missy12/16/08 08:43View
Missy's Story Part 4: Innocence ShatteredMissy12/16/08 18:34View
Missy's Story Part 5: Innocence AnnihilatedMissy12/18/08 17:16View
Small DangersVox12/18/08 21:36View
Saint of The Abyss: Part 1Luciferiel12/19/08 05:21View
Zero....-1Justa Zero12/19/08 17:38View
Zero....1Justa Zero12/19/08 18:26View
Óðr’s Daughter. Chapter I: A Guiding DreamAsil Karu12/20/08 02:39View
Omega To Alphaerinnic12/23/08 16:49View
Her Bloody Tears [-Past Event-]Methias12/23/08 18:09View
Lost Kitsune - A Shattered MindKiera12/25/08 18:51View
Usr's story Part IVUsrBinPerl12/27/08 20:34View
The EssexHeir Maelstrom12/29/08 04:23View
Kwekwe's shameKwekwe Karu12/30/08 18:11View
Joint Round Robin Fic Anyone...?erinnic12/30/08 19:07View
God Was On Her Lips As She Diederinnic01/02/09 23:31View
Love and Betrayal - A New Beginningkessjuliesse01/03/09 13:46View
The Diary of Cody Woodhencodywoodhen01/05/09 21:35View
Missy's Story Part 6: Innocence AbductedMissy01/07/09 06:23View
Cursed BladeYannis_Martynov01/08/09 21:27View
Story Thread: Community Round Robin Ficerinnic01/09/09 23:25View
The demon withinCanly Fargis01/11/09 16:14View
Ziau- CoLA's Very Own CasanovaZiau01/13/09 02:09View
Twisted Attentionserinnic01/21/09 20:34View
Inspiration- music and roleplayZiau01/26/09 08:01View
Compilation! Where were you when it all happened?Ziau01/28/09 09:12View
The Clock Struck MidnightMalice Ashdene01/28/09 22:31View
With Precision- a poem by Kelly Welch A.k.A Ziau Jua.Ziau01/29/09 04:36View
Alisa's dicovery of a new world (character sheet + story)Alisa Draconia01/30/09 19:17View
The Shadow Stepper- Ziau the Enshadowed.Ziau02/01/09 07:26View
Krista Lemon arrives to the streets of Lost AngelsKrista02/03/09 00:09View
Back Story Upto the Excile of Rune.RuneCrimson02/03/09 21:59View
War with the Brood, war with the Coven, and the Pack.Ziau02/07/09 04:11View
-- Halcyon's Backstory --Halcyon Nacht02/08/09 00:22View
Planer/Exonar family (aka, Erinyse, Khalan, Viridian, Cummere, Selena)Cummere Mayo02/08/09 03:53View
Kit's BackstoryKit Ristow02/10/09 18:40View
Eyes in the DarkKeyla02/11/09 09:47View
Surfacing Part ILlyr02/13/09 22:21View
Surfacing Part IILlyr02/13/09 22:35View
Tama-Chan: A Cat's Story (Tamara's background)Tamara02/17/09 07:35View
Project: A map of Post Apocalypse North AmericaTamara02/17/09 19:21View
Dreamtime RevelationsWinter02/19/09 18:08View
Reaver-the echo of the BlackwindAntiZero02/23/09 00:43View
On the Origin of SpeciesTamara02/25/09 22:38View
ConfessionKit Ristow02/26/09 01:39View
Personnel File: Pointe, Zsuzsanna C. (Inactive, Deceased)Su Pointe02/26/09 03:32View
Malice, in a Different Kind of WonderlandMalice Ashdene02/27/09 18:07View
The Dark of InspirationKit Ristow03/01/09 21:42View
Jheric: CrucifiedKayle Ashdene03/03/09 10:53View
It's my lifearsene_Braveheart03/05/09 18:18View
The Tradgedy of the HybridDigital Enigma03/29/09 07:09View
The Sin of Wrathmolly switchblade04/02/09 21:28View
Golden BoyEphran Ehrler04/15/09 06:12View
Story About A GirlAesendria04/24/09 15:34View
Climaxe by Smith and WessonSloan04/28/09 06:19View
My new project ATTENTION Russian Characters!Ziau05/01/09 06:42View
**NSFW** A Typical Tuesday Night for MissyMissy05/06/09 20:48View
Post your profile links!Cortero Landar05/07/09 10:25View
Making Logan SufferAesendria05/12/09 07:09View
Jeanne VarunJeanne Varun05/14/09 08:24View
The Vanguard's True PurposeLogan05/16/09 01:03View
Cortero's Infernal ArmorCortero Landar05/16/09 06:52View
Bookstore SurpriseAesendria05/16/09 23:16View
Post your profile links if you have in-story info in them!Cortero Landar05/18/09 10:33View
PromisesAesendria05/24/09 02:44View
Cyber Evolution Bios, Anur Seda, Cyber Reaper, and Commander of CETheassassin06/08/09 11:28View
Was any of it real?Youko_Giha06/12/09 15:28View
A shift in prioritiesLogan06/17/09 04:21View
Going homeLudvig06/17/09 19:10View
'Ren in Japanoren06/18/09 23:11View
Thelma across the boardThelemaJuliesse06/26/09 15:09View
Pre-fiction: How Kayteear got here.Kayteear07/15/09 16:43View
Story TimeCharissa07/17/09 19:03View
Pack Airship RP.Tai07/27/09 02:49View
My CharacterLilith1308/05/09 22:34View
LilithLilith1308/06/09 09:30View
The Haunter in the DarkShadow08/14/09 21:50View
The Flying HeadsKwekwe Karu08/16/09 16:52View
Why selling coffins is impossible in CoLAZiau08/23/09 04:14View
Paint it red!Ziau08/23/09 07:51View
Young Cowards.Ziau08/23/09 08:28View
Great video for RPers and people passionate about writing.Ziau09/05/09 08:55View
Dux - 264 BCDux09/10/09 18:41View
The Thing at South Gate SanitariumShadow09/15/09 22:09View
♪♫ Do you wanna RP my avatar ♪♫Kayteear09/17/09 14:45View
Jessica's MotherJessica Susser09/21/09 04:19View
Ziau Challenged me to. NSFWChasityDawes09/21/09 07:17View
The Divine Machine.................Theassassin09/21/09 22:29View
I Bleed my Blood for Myself.Ziau09/22/09 22:28View
Cronicle of a deathKayteear09/24/09 01:34View
"Please Allow Me to Introduce Myself"DavidJoshua Artful09/26/09 17:07View
Old Versus NewDigital Enigma09/27/09 20:28View
The Shadowed Order, The Eternal Order, Ordo MachinaTheassassin10/06/09 06:55View
Elamyrath's HistoryElamyrath10/10/09 00:52View
The here, the now, the dead. The Minus.TheMinus Ziskey10/10/09 12:41View
Before bed ritual.Amy Guisse10/17/09 04:13View
Alone?Ike10/18/09 15:34View
IS this High School again?Theassassin10/24/09 12:49View
Sidhe vs DrowOrlok Lectar10/29/09 04:08View
Daddy bluesarsene_Braveheart11/17/09 19:01View
Chronicles of SIEagentlyseria11/22/09 12:27View
The Lady In Black(A Drokan Exile Twisted Love Story)AntiZero11/29/09 06:36View
The growing Darkness.Leirain Koray12/01/09 11:04View
The lycanKayteear12/01/09 16:00View
City of Lost Jackman: The Untold Hollywood BlockbusterAntiZero12/02/09 07:11View
Coming home for christmas ..Kes12/10/09 22:17View
Bunneh Vs. Lich, DBZ styleKarsha Yutani12/14/09 11:59View
A FarewellRoland12/16/09 20:50View
Of Death and RebirthDigital Enigma12/21/09 20:14View
The Story of ReocoReoko Farspire02/06/10 20:47View
Homecoming......... The Story of Orpheus DarkfoldOrpheusDarkfold03/11/10 02:27View
The Story of Orpheus Part 2OrpheusDarkfold03/13/10 23:15View
Who owns who?Kayteear03/22/10 22:03View
Missing the Oceanricercar03/23/10 22:27View
Letter to the editor: Manners in LATink03/25/10 16:58View
Chasity BackstoryChasityDawes06/14/10 19:43View
Something Black and Violent...DavidJoshua Artful06/19/10 22:23View
Doctor Visiterinnic07/12/10 04:26View
Gabby Perdidevacantghost07/19/10 04:42View
Kit Ristow[i][b]Author's note[/b]: I'm going to put this in multiple parts, partially because I'm trying to force myself to post it before I revise it to death and get sick of it. Additional parts'll go in this thread. Not sure how canon this'll stay in terms of how I play Kit in the city, but right now, it's totally what's going on.[/i].


She really should have been more careful.

That thought ran through Kit's head as she struggled towards consciousness, tried in vain to open her eyes. She remembered what had happened before; she'd been in the alley. Su had been there. So had Ike. She and Su had had. . .a fight? But everything was okay now. And Ike had hit her in the back with a brick, but she was sure he'd had a really good reason, even if she couldn't remember what it was.

And then, of course, they'd both told her to go to bed. Ike had even agreed to handle the bit she was supposed to do with with the Razors outside of town. Which, really, was very nice of him, even if it wasn't his responsibility. Even if she should have done it herself.

Kit wasn't going to waste the opportunity, though; if she wasn't going to do the deal, she could take the time to finish up the two translations she had. If she got those done, then she'd be caught up. She could sleep then; no need to wait until she was dead.

With a grunt, she tried to turn over, to get up and start the day. No point in staying in bed all day, not when she could be getting her work done. But her body wouldn't respond, and when she strained harder, a shard of pain pierced her head, right above her left eye, and traveled to the back of her skull in a violent rush of searing heat and nausea. She cried out and instinctively tried to bring her hands to her forehead. . .but they wouldn't move.

She was bound.


She really should have been more careful.

She'd been walking back to her apartment, and then she'd been jumped. She hadn't checked the fire escapes, and they'd been waiting for her up there. The small one had jumped down from the second story and landed on her, brought her to the ground. The other one had taken out a gun—a big, heavy pistol—but he hadn't shot her. Instead, he'd brought it up, then down in a devastating blow against her temple.

And that was the last that she remembered. That explained the pain, at least. The rest of it, though, was a mystery. It wasn't so much that someone had come after her; trying to keep Cody's operation running while the other girl recovered came with a built-in set of risks, and even Kit's own services as a translator could end in altercations that didn't go precisely as planned. It was more a question of who'd care enough to plan it like this.

Because if they'd wanted her dead, they'd had hours to do it while she was unconscious.

The first thing she did was test the bindings. They were metal, and they fucking hurt. Not as bad as her head, but in a dull sort of ache that sapped the energy from her, left her arms feeling heavy and bruised and tired in a way that a simple beating didn't account for.

All right; they were iron, then. Probably otherwise worked, too, some kind of runes or magic in the actual cuffs. If she concentrated hard enough, she could feel that, too; a low, subtle buzzing under the ever-present pain of the metal.

An experimental tug didn't loosen them; she wasn't going to break them by strength. She gathered herself inside, tried to focus herself, tried to call the energy and flame to her hands, the spark. . .

. . .nothing. Her focus was off. She tried again; still nothing.

Shit. She knew she wasn't getting out of there on her own.

Another few moments of thought, and then she clicks her jaw to the side, speaks softly.

“Hello? Anyone there?”


“Logan? Arex? Ike?”


“James? Dree? Jury?”

No answer.

Frustrated, she tilted her head to the left, brought her shoulder up to rub against her ear. The gesture mussed the strands of hair that had fallen loose from her ponytail and mashed her ear flat against her the side of her head, but all she felt was cartilage and flesh.

They'd taken her comm. Quick checks done with painful rolling against the cement floor and brick wall told her that they'd also taken her sword and her gun. She can feel lumps in both her pockets, though; they didn't check those.

This meant that she had holly shavings, a small piece of quartz, a rosary, and a wooden [i]fidchell[/i] piece shaped like a deer. She also had the two stones around her neck, and the two feathers on her arm.

Her mind started to race, going through the plans.

The rosary would steel her against the iron. If she could get a spark going, she could use it against them. She'd been trying to work the quartz the past few months, and it has her magic in it; that'll fuel her, even though she's fucking exhausted.

She could attack them.

She could etch runes on the holly with fire and have weapons.

She could use one of the feathers. She didn't know if the summoning worked on Raven, but it worked on Neffie, and one them is his. He could get her out. He fucking [i]owed[/i] her.

She could hold the deer and the rosary and pray.

. . .and she couldn't do any of that, because she couldn't fucking get her hands [i]loose![/i]

Kit growled in frustration, felt her eyes and skin flare, felt the iron sear against her flesh in response. The sharp pain coursed through her, brought her back to herself.

She couldn't do a damn thing. She could only wait.

So she pulled herself up into a sitting position, knees drawn up towards her chest, her palms as flat as she was able to press them against the wall.

If they came in with guns, she could stay in this position, launch herself at the shooter. If they came with weapons, she could use it to at least get standing. She could try to kick them, try to knock the fastenings against the wall. She couldn't see them, but they felt modern; she might jar open if she brought them down against someone hard enough.

. . .which was totally bullshit, because she couldn't hit that hard. She'd never been very strong. Had always been built small. . .not for this world. . .

She felt her head begin to nod forward and jerked it up with a start, trying to force herself awake. How long had it been since she slept?

At least four days. Maybe less. Maybe more.

She could rest until they came; she knew that. She could curl up on the floor, and wait for them to come. They weren't going to kill her; if they were going to kill her, they would have done it while she was unconscious. They wouldn't wait. They wouldn't.

And she was so fucking tired. . .

With a sigh, she closed her eyes, let her mind drift into half-sleep. The water dipping through the foundation and the occasional distant gunshot pierced the room, brought her awake with a start at least a dozen times an hour.

The room lightened; blue pre-twilight started to bring the room into focus, into contrast, and, somewhere in the distance, someone screamed.

It was the scream that woke her that time, but it was the sound of footsteps moving down stairs that kept her awake. Her body coiled in on itself, tensed. A dark figure—tall and lean, definitely male—was looming. Heading down the stairs.

He was reaching up.

He was pulling on a cord.

The light turned on, and Kit's eyes went wide; somewhere deep inside her, something was screaming and raging, remembering. Doubting. She couldn't get the specifics of it, but she could feel one thought, boiling up from her past, from her subconscious:

[i]Fuck me. It can't be [b]him. . .[/b][/i]

Clear as crystal, really.

And then everything shattered.
03/01/09 21:42
MissyYou are an absolutely incredible writer Kit. Truly. I can't even begin to tell you how much I enjoy reading your work. Please don't stop now. This is fabulous.03/02/09 16:56
Kit Ristow((*turns red* Thanks, Missy. Here's the next bit.))

The bearer of iron had been useless—worse than useless, really, because he’d wasted Mihael’s time, and waste was an offense to both God and man—but he’d found his way anyway.  The bright and dark ones sang songs with their skin and their movements and their words, and those movements had led him here to this moment.
And it was the iron-bearer’s fault that it had taken so long, that Mihael had found four other girls before he found the [i]right[/i] one.  That hadn’t been waste, at least; they had all sang like this one—a different song, but still singing—and the iron had seared their flesh just as well.  So they were practice, and he’d cleansed the world.
But this one [i]looked[/i] at him, the thing, could really see him.  He could she in her face that she knew his name.  And if she knew his name, then she was her, and his search was over.

She was the one who had brought him words. She was the one who had taken the light from him. Who had consumed him. Who had broken him.
It didn’t look like her; the girl he remembered had been red-haired, and green-eyed.  The most beautiful and most damned thing he’d ever seen.  This one was too skinny and had dark hair and was [i]scarred[/i], of all things—he could see it on her left cheek, a red mark vivid against the pale of her skin.   Flawed and broken and not at all as he remembered.
But she remembered.  He could tell.  Her eyes were wild and wide and afraid and she sings loud.  The singing made the bonds snap and crackle against her skin, brought her pain, and the thought of it made him smile.
Her gaze locked on his, seemed momentarily confused, out of place and as mad as he knew he was.  And then she closed them, and spoke.
“Oh [i]fuck[/i] me.  Not you.”  She moved against the bonds, and it looked to him as though she was trying to sit up straight.  “Look, if you wanted me to do another job, you could have just asked for me.  But this seems a little. . .”  She laughed, hollow and dry as reeds in a drought.  “It seems a little extreme.”
The girl was a liar, but that didn’t surprise him.  He smiled, made his face as understanding and comforting as he knew how.  She scanned his face, and her lip curled in an expression of contempt and disbelief.
That was all he needed.  He raised his right hand, extended one figure, and traced it in the air.  Three lines of equal length, forming a triangle.  His path flashed in the air, then vanished.
A pause.  And then she screamed.  She didn’t really [i]move[/i], though; she stayed coiled tight against the wall, drove her palms against the bricks, stayed ready to strike.  Like a serpent, like a liar, like [i]the[/i] Serpent he knew she was.  A long minute—over a minute, and the screaming and panting stopped, the magic and the fire dying.
“Ah, [i]kerout[/i].”  His voice was thin and high-pitched; it wasn’t impressive, but it was [i]his[/i] voice, not a lie.  For the power was in truth and the truth in power, and prophets never fell to the false.  “Don’t hide from me, now.”
“Jesus!”  She panted and sweated and shook; there was blood on her lip where she’d bitten it and broken the skin.   “All right—I had some trouble with one of the pages.  God. . .”  A shudder wracked her body; she closed her eyes, took a deep breath, and spoke carefully.   “Give it to me, and I’ll redo it.  No charge.  No guarantees it’ll be any better, but, hey, if you’re not satisfied. . .”
“Stop [i]lying![/i]”   Her words twisted in his head and burned him and frightened and screamed.   He wanted to cover his ears, to drive them away; instead, he traced his hand through the air, drew the same triangle. 
This time, the girl didn’t scream, but made a loud growling noise and pressed herself back into the brick wall, body tense.  This was his opening, given to him by God and his power and fire, and he would take it as commanded.
He reached forward as her body was wracked and cleansed and burned, grabbed her by the jaw and forced it open, his fingers pressing hard between her teeth until her lips parted, and she cried out.
Those lips he remembered, but he would not think of them.
His hand disappeared beneath his robe, came out with a flask.   With a smooth, practiced motion, he removed the cap, uncovered it, brought it to her mouth and poured it into her.   The girl coughed and sputtered and tried to spit it out, but he pushed under her jaw, pinched her nose shut, and held her fast until she swallowed.  Then he let her go, moved back, and smiled.
“What the hell was that?”  Her voice was hoarse; he knew why. He knew the drink, knew that datura burned the tongues and seared the souls of liars.

“For you. A drink. You almost escaped me. I didn't think it could be you.”

“What. . .” Her forehead beaded with sweat, her cheeks flushed and her eyes shone bright with unshed tears. Tears that should be for repentance. But she never would. She never did. They never did, the unfair ones. “I don't. . .I don't know what you're talking about. . .”

He didn't answer, but waited, still as silence and statues, still as metal waiting to be worked. The girl tried the bindings again, but they held her, did not give to pressure. To lies and force.

It was his fault. He should have seen it before; he should have realized it when the first spell hadn't taken her. But her reputation was good; sterling as silver, shone bright and relatively untarnished. He should have known. The others he could have done quickly; they had needed to die, but they did not have to suffer like this one requires.

But he had her now, and all the night and the day to keep her, to make her give him the words she had taken. The light she had stolen. His light.

His eyes searched her again, locked on hers; her pupil had grown, had swallowed all but the barest rim of her iris, made her eyes seem black and fathomless. Her head turned, looked around the room, this way and that, expression filled with mounting panic.

And she cried out.

“Graih? Graih, I can't hear, I can't see. . .” Those eyes locked on his face, and the color drained from her skin. “You. . .”

He let out a good-natured chuckle, moved to her, knelt next to her. Bent to her, whispered in her ear, voice worshipful. Of God. Not of her, not of the girl, never of the girl. “Yes.”

She tried to recoil from him, backed violently against the wall, fingers scrabbling madly at the rough-hewn bricks. “No. . .God no, you're dead, you're [i]dead![/i]”

Her head reared back, to the side, and she spat at him. He knew she would, though; she would not respect him until she remembered his touch, and his bite, and the words he wrote on her skin. But the gesture still angered him, and he grabbed her rough by the hair.

With the impact of his grip, her head rocked to the side, and she looked at him, expression softening, lips parting slightly, and he had to resist the urge to lean forward and taste them.

In breathing, she spoke. “M'aoire. . .”

She reached for his face, and he tried to pull back, but found himself bound to stay. His cheek touched her fingers, and he froze as her lips curved into a soft smile. “No.” The words caught in his throat, and he choked on them like apple. He could feel the pulse under her skin. “No. . .”

“M'aoire. . .” Suddenly, her fingers were like fire, scorching his cheek, burning. “Fuck. You.”

He reeled backwards from the heat, felt his skin blister. The girl thrashed, too, overwhelmed by the pain he knew spilled into her from her bindings. Because he'd made them that way. Made them for retribution.

“God!” Her voice was high pitched and filled with crying, with tears. “Oh, God, Kyle, I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I burned you.” She' was nothing but sobs now, their passing wracking her into shuddering, labored breaths. “I really did love, you, I did. I did! Don't—don't look at me like that!” She pulled her knees at her chest. “I said I'm sorry. It'll be okay, I'll fix it, and. . .”

Mihael stood, took steps backward, putting distance between him and her. Between himself and lies, and the unclean, raving thing in front of him.

“I don' want t'burn. I—I don'. . .I don'!” Her arms flung up in front of her face, as though warding something away, and then her tone changed to a low, angry, violently sad growl. “I see the way you look at me when I look away—all insolence and victory and loathing. I helped you. Helped him. [i]Look[/i] at me, Storyteller!” Her arms went back to her sides, palms smacking into the cement, and she glared at him, though he know she didn't really see him, and shouted. “I brought you back to fucking life, and you wasted it. You should fucking [i]worship[/i] and beg my forgiveness for the guilt. You should be [i]grateful![/i]”

Her voice lowered, grew soft again, and a tremor entered it; Mihael closed his eyes, listened. Prayed it wouldn't be much longer.

“Y'said tha' yeh'd protect me. Watch me. A'cause he couldn'.” She dropped her head, buried her face in her legs and wept. “But yeh left. . .”

The crying shook her, weaving her back and forward. “They all leave, an' only th' demon stays. Only th' demon ever stays. . .” A shuddering breath, and then her voice calmed. “Some day, I'll be one of them.”

She looked up with a smile. She looked at [i]him[/i]. He could see the recognition in her face; she saw him. Her expression grew remote, distant, and, when she spoke, her words fell like chips of ice. “The monk. I should have known.”

“Yes.” He stepped closer, pulled something from under his cloak—a long blade, wicked and curved and blessed. Made of iron. With a smooth, sudden motion, he brought the flat of it to her skin, and she took a sharp breath. “You should have.”

The girl prepared to speak, but he turned the blade quickly in his hand, brought the edge sharp against her skin.

“And now you will.”
03/03/09 02:16
Kit Ristow((Aaaand. . .this will be the last part written by me, as it synchs it up with current RP)).

The world snapped into focus around her; she could still see the shapes, could still see the people she’d been raving at, but they were of no importance. They were illusions. They didn’t [i]matter[/i].

Right now, the only person who mattered to Lhiannon was the one in the center. The monk. She’d never learned his name, because she’d never had need of it. She remembered him now in vivid detail—the feel of his skin, the taste of his words, the smell of his ink on parchment.

And, of course, the bite of his knife. Their time together hadn't ended well. It never did.

The boat they’d been in had swamped en route from the islands to the mainland. She’d managed to cling to the wreckage, and had washed up somewhere on the continent. Later—long after she'd lived and died there—the place had been named Brittany. The people from the island would settle there, would take refuge and make a home and a culture that was their own.

But then, in that time and place, it was a strange place, and she was naked and alone. So she stood on the beach, watched the sea and the sky and the land, and waited for Avris to find her, to come for her. . .

The knife turned suddenly, cut across the flesh of her forearm and tore her from her thoughts. She didn’t cry out, even as she felt it slice through her skin, splitting her flesh and leaving a burning trail of pain in its wake. Her jaw set, and she breathed through the pain, forced a strained smile as the worst of it passed, and spoke.

“I should have [i]months[/i] ago. The translations.”

“They were my work.” He withdrew the knife. “My words, my magic. Yes.”

She laughed softly and fixed cold eyes on him. “Then why did you need me to tell you what they said?”

His arm flashed forward again with the knife and brought it to her chest, catching the fabric of her shirt on its tip. The suddenness of the motion stopped her breathing, and she tilted her head, listened to him speak.

“You know why. You know what you’ve done, what you’ll do given half the chance. You took His Word away.”

The knife dug in against her shirt, pricked her chest; she started at the pain, then laughed. “Is that all?”

A quick movement of his hand, and a shallow cut appeared across her collarbone, ripping through the cloth and leaving a ragged tear that quickly welled with blood.

“It’s more than you’ll ever know, [i]leanan sidhe[/i].” His lip curled in an angry sneer. “More than you’ll ever have. You’ll never receive His favor. You’ll never know what I [i]lost[/i].” Another slash with the knife, this time down her right arm, across the bicep; it came to a stop at the wire-bound armband, and he withdrew. “You’ll never understand how—”

“Spare me the oratory, monk." Her voice came out brittle and wracked with pain, but she still managed a hollow chuckle as she interrupted him. "You didn’t lose it. You never [i]had[/i] it.”

His fist clenched around the knife, but he didn’t use it; instead, he struck her across the head, sent her careening to the floor to land on her bad shoulder. The armband dug into her arm, slid up against the cut; she could feel the fastenings on the feathers begin to give, could feel the entire array become looser against her skin.

“I had it!" He reached forward and grabbed her, hauled her into an upright sitting position. "You came for it; you came for me and you made me break my vow. You liar; you succubus! You stole it.”

“Please.” She spat the words at him, sneering. “I didn’t come for you because you were [i]special[/i]. You were [i]nothing[/i], monk! What you had was what I gave you, and no more.”

“Liar.” The point of the knife came under her throat, threatened to break the skin. “You came for me. . .”

“It was an accident. I’d washed—”

“There are no accidents. Only His Will.”

“It was an accident.” She repeated it through clenched teeth. “I’d washed up on there, and I was waiting for [i]m’aoire[/i]. You watched me for three days. I nearly froze to death. You showed me no hospitality.”

“You were there to tempt me.”

“I was there because I was there. But you watched me shivering, and you felt nothing but fear for your own soul. And it was only then—after I knew you would not come, after I knew how weak and [i]disrespectful[/i] you were—that I called to you. You never followed Him. Your soul never sang.." Her voice dropped to a low, mocking whisper, and her lips twisted in an angry smile. "You never called to me."

“You came to break my vows. You came for [i]me[/i].” He said this softly as he pushed the knife up to prick her skin and draw blood. “Don’t lie to me, [i]kerout[/i]."

Her eyes danced and shone brightly, even as the iron bit into her skin at the wrists and ankles. “I don’t lie, lover. You never meant the vows that you took, and they were broken long before I arrived.” The light in her eyes died, and her face clouded over, grew angry and threatening. “Don’t blame me for your sin.”

The blade stayed at her throat for a long moment. Then he suddenly tore it away, leaving a light scratch under along the line of her jaw, and stalked out of the room, slamming the door behind him. There was noise coming from upstairs, muffled words—a man and woman's voice, indistinct—and then silence.

Lhiannon stayed still for a moment, gathering her strength. He wouldn’t learn; he never learned. He would return.

Shifting on her hands, she turned so she was parallel with the wall, and dragged herself to her feet unsteadily, wracked with pain and bleeding. She could see faces surrounding her, hear voices, feel the panic and her own heartbeat rising in her throat again.

Kit didn’t have long.

Her feet braced against the floor, she took a deep breath, then threw herself at the wall. The impact hit the fastenings of her armband, but it didn’t come loose. She reared back and did it again, this time harder. It held fast. One more time, and she could hear, rather than feel, a bone somewhere near her shoulder shatter.

And she could hear the armband drop to the floor.

She fell to the ground next to it, groped behind her for it. Took one of the feathers in her left hand and clenched it tight as the pain of the fracture began to overwhelm her. The texture of it was soft in her hand, familiar; it was Raven's.

She closed her eyes, said a prayer. Called him.
03/04/09 02:00
LlyrRiveting, Kit, and beautifully written. I'm waiting for the next bit!03/05/09 18:49
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