Post by Atra Alveus on Aug 1, 2007 15:36:36 GMT -5
((This is an ongoing story, and this post is only the first installment. Please do not post here until I have given the okay or you are the only person I have given permission to. That you.))
Atra casually walked from one car to the next. After all, the event of putting one foot in front of the other repeatedly was really not difficult, even as the wind jostled the long line of cars about on their tracks. A sigh as long as the train exhaled quietly through her slightly parted lips as if it did not want to be caught escaping the painfully organized woman. A second, shorter sigh followed her longer moment of weakness as she realized the first had successfully broken free of her heart’s own prison isle. Admitting her defeat, Alveus stopped her car walking and simply sat.
The night above was rather beautiful for those in circles knowing current events. Lightning without thunder chased itself across the starless sky. There was no rain moistening the uncomfortably dry air, and there were no sounds other than the train rumbling through the rocky mountains and the screaming inside Atra’s mind. Yes, the night was beautiful, especially to those who were involved in the creation of current events.
“What are you doing up here?” came a familiar voice from the past.
“Remembering,” answered the same voice.
Before Atra had appeared a memory of her own reflection from three years ago, from when she had first come to London. Her hair had been longer then, and much curlier. The women gazed into their own face, the elder noting how much the crystal blue pools of her eyes used to sparkle. She had once been so eager to be recognized and feared. She had once been so eager to make an infamous name for herself simply so former enemies would leave her at peace. Now, she was recognized and feared, and now, all previous enemies and more recent ones were dead, killed by her own wand. Now, there was no peace.
“Do you ever regret me?”
The elder refused to answer aloud. She would be sent straight to St. Mungo’s if caught answering her own hallucination. However, she could not prevent her mind from pondering the question. There had been so much death and hatred in her life since coming to London three years ago.
The wind blasted against the side of the mountain, shaking the car and the two women violently. Another bolt of lightning ran across the hollow black sky. The first bolt was followed by a second, seeming to spawn from the same place over the mountain. Atra shuddered. Every fragment of the night’s light show had begun over the mountain the train was now racing around to reach the top of.
“Do you regret me?” the reflection asked again, this time her eyes glowing more brightly than before.
With all of the death and hatred had come nothing more than pain. She had been wounded, tortured, and heartbroken. Everything she had held precious once before was now gone and had not been fully replaced. There were holes in her, mind, body, and soul. Friends had becomes deserters, and lovers, traitors. Did she regret herself, her choices, her existence?
“Someone is coming.”
Atra already knew a foe was approaching her from behind. Unlike her younger self, she had learned to become more of a whole with her animagus form, incorporating its heightened senses with her own, human instinct.
“Are you going to die?”
The probability of death was created every morning when she kissed her lover goodbye and left the bedroom. It was only when she returned to their bed that the probability was temporarily forgotten, replaced by the pleasures, and safeties, of the flesh. So she supposed she would die at some moment, but only a Seer might know when that moment was. No, she told herself mentally, she would not die on top of this train with the wind blowing her hair unflatteringly and her body slightly fragile from the stress of the situation.
The young reflection was then momentarily forgotten as Atra rose to her feet for a now pressing matter with the approaching enemy. All the while her plan to not die was coursing through her veins like blood. She would die when she was ready to, when her life was worth dying for. Or at least when her life had something worth dying for encased in it. That was when she would die and not a second before. She was her own master, a recently realized quality she found quite pleasing.
“Guard change,” the cloaked foe said as a green blast burst forth from his wand tip. His form was familiar, as was his cloak. The assassin was tall and very slender, and the glimpse of his face she saw was pale. There was something horribly familiar about this man, and yet, she knew he was nothing more than a stranger out to kill her and capture her very precious cargo.
The initial attack was easy to dodge with a quick step to the left. It was the second shot, a red burst, that was more challenging and grazed her arm as she almost fell off the train trying to dodge it. The third came just as quickly in succession as the second had. The third, however, seemingly hit its mark and had the woman frozen in place lying on the top of the train car.
A strand of lighter brown whipped out from the hood of his cloak in a strong gust of wind. The same gust swirled around again, moving the cloak around to reveal a silver sword with engraving on the man’s hip. He smirked. It was that face looking down at her that so frequently looked down on others. She was careful not to move her eyes in recognition of those fake silver eyes glaring down at her. If only the fake had been smarter to get the costuming slightly more accurate. Everyone knew that sword had been destroyed, especially Atra. Especially Atra knew the real shade of those eyes and the real look of that face.
The man knelt down beside her in some attempt to play merciful attacker, but she would not fall for it. Her hand spun out the dagger from her boot as if the blade had been summoned there. His eyes went gaunt as he felt the shiny blade slip into his ribcage.
“How could you?” he asked, his voice even the same as her lover’s.
“What you do not know will always kill you,” she whispered in response into his ear sweetly before shoving the man off her blade and off her train.
Moments after the battle there was a silver panther bounding through the night sky toward Spain. It was carrying a warning for the original cloaked man’s ears only. They are impersonating you, the patronus would declare upon finding its target. I am wounded, but the boy is safe. We head for Kroenen’s. At the very least, he will be safe there.
Atra casually walked from one car to the next. After all, the event of putting one foot in front of the other repeatedly was really not difficult, even as the wind jostled the long line of cars about on their tracks. A sigh as long as the train exhaled quietly through her slightly parted lips as if it did not want to be caught escaping the painfully organized woman. A second, shorter sigh followed her longer moment of weakness as she realized the first had successfully broken free of her heart’s own prison isle. Admitting her defeat, Alveus stopped her car walking and simply sat.
The night above was rather beautiful for those in circles knowing current events. Lightning without thunder chased itself across the starless sky. There was no rain moistening the uncomfortably dry air, and there were no sounds other than the train rumbling through the rocky mountains and the screaming inside Atra’s mind. Yes, the night was beautiful, especially to those who were involved in the creation of current events.
“What are you doing up here?” came a familiar voice from the past.
“Remembering,” answered the same voice.
Before Atra had appeared a memory of her own reflection from three years ago, from when she had first come to London. Her hair had been longer then, and much curlier. The women gazed into their own face, the elder noting how much the crystal blue pools of her eyes used to sparkle. She had once been so eager to be recognized and feared. She had once been so eager to make an infamous name for herself simply so former enemies would leave her at peace. Now, she was recognized and feared, and now, all previous enemies and more recent ones were dead, killed by her own wand. Now, there was no peace.
“Do you ever regret me?”
The elder refused to answer aloud. She would be sent straight to St. Mungo’s if caught answering her own hallucination. However, she could not prevent her mind from pondering the question. There had been so much death and hatred in her life since coming to London three years ago.
The wind blasted against the side of the mountain, shaking the car and the two women violently. Another bolt of lightning ran across the hollow black sky. The first bolt was followed by a second, seeming to spawn from the same place over the mountain. Atra shuddered. Every fragment of the night’s light show had begun over the mountain the train was now racing around to reach the top of.
“Do you regret me?” the reflection asked again, this time her eyes glowing more brightly than before.
With all of the death and hatred had come nothing more than pain. She had been wounded, tortured, and heartbroken. Everything she had held precious once before was now gone and had not been fully replaced. There were holes in her, mind, body, and soul. Friends had becomes deserters, and lovers, traitors. Did she regret herself, her choices, her existence?
“Someone is coming.”
Atra already knew a foe was approaching her from behind. Unlike her younger self, she had learned to become more of a whole with her animagus form, incorporating its heightened senses with her own, human instinct.
“Are you going to die?”
The probability of death was created every morning when she kissed her lover goodbye and left the bedroom. It was only when she returned to their bed that the probability was temporarily forgotten, replaced by the pleasures, and safeties, of the flesh. So she supposed she would die at some moment, but only a Seer might know when that moment was. No, she told herself mentally, she would not die on top of this train with the wind blowing her hair unflatteringly and her body slightly fragile from the stress of the situation.
The young reflection was then momentarily forgotten as Atra rose to her feet for a now pressing matter with the approaching enemy. All the while her plan to not die was coursing through her veins like blood. She would die when she was ready to, when her life was worth dying for. Or at least when her life had something worth dying for encased in it. That was when she would die and not a second before. She was her own master, a recently realized quality she found quite pleasing.
“Guard change,” the cloaked foe said as a green blast burst forth from his wand tip. His form was familiar, as was his cloak. The assassin was tall and very slender, and the glimpse of his face she saw was pale. There was something horribly familiar about this man, and yet, she knew he was nothing more than a stranger out to kill her and capture her very precious cargo.
The initial attack was easy to dodge with a quick step to the left. It was the second shot, a red burst, that was more challenging and grazed her arm as she almost fell off the train trying to dodge it. The third came just as quickly in succession as the second had. The third, however, seemingly hit its mark and had the woman frozen in place lying on the top of the train car.
A strand of lighter brown whipped out from the hood of his cloak in a strong gust of wind. The same gust swirled around again, moving the cloak around to reveal a silver sword with engraving on the man’s hip. He smirked. It was that face looking down at her that so frequently looked down on others. She was careful not to move her eyes in recognition of those fake silver eyes glaring down at her. If only the fake had been smarter to get the costuming slightly more accurate. Everyone knew that sword had been destroyed, especially Atra. Especially Atra knew the real shade of those eyes and the real look of that face.
The man knelt down beside her in some attempt to play merciful attacker, but she would not fall for it. Her hand spun out the dagger from her boot as if the blade had been summoned there. His eyes went gaunt as he felt the shiny blade slip into his ribcage.
“How could you?” he asked, his voice even the same as her lover’s.
“What you do not know will always kill you,” she whispered in response into his ear sweetly before shoving the man off her blade and off her train.
Moments after the battle there was a silver panther bounding through the night sky toward Spain. It was carrying a warning for the original cloaked man’s ears only. They are impersonating you, the patronus would declare upon finding its target. I am wounded, but the boy is safe. We head for Kroenen’s. At the very least, he will be safe there.