Post by TEAGAN TEAGAN TEAGAN TEAGAN TE on Oct 27, 2010 18:55:42 GMT -5
One of the first things Teagan Monolayre noticed as she arrived was the fact that nearly a dozen graves appeared to have been recently dug up.
Weird, she thought.
And the sun was nearly set.
Oh, well.
Holding her beloved's hand like this, the young witch decided it would be perfectly fine if she were slayed feeling so damn happy.
She released his strong, magnificent hand and moved quickly ahead of him. Both sadness and familiarity pressed in upon her soul. Memories slapped her face, cursing her happiness. Just how many people did she know that died? Others that had gone "missing"? Her granny, for instance--although she hated that witch and even dueled her, someone else killed her behind her back. That, or the old witch and her shrunken centuries-old diabetic body went on an unannounced vacation to the Pacific and merely forgot to bring along her hoards of dough. But Teagan didn't care about that one. Her mother, though, and her sister and father--all killed on the same day. That day she should've been home.
Early that morning (very, very early), she sneaked into the Monolayre's hidey-hole and stole something quite important. It was all for revenge and for knowledge and for pride. (No one ever accused her of being the culprit in the six years since.)
That morning she escaped, all limbs attached, and took a nap outside, recovering from exhaustion and wounds as she welled with elation.
She came home. The world changed.
A bloodbath met her eyes and scarred her cognizance for eternity. Her sister was still gasping when Teagan st--
The Monolayre inhaled slowly for a moment.
The scene haunted her mind for years afterward. She could remember every splatter, every butchered limb, the cadavered corpses... her sister's last exhalations and how she was too weak to save her. Teagan recalled the assassin she nearly killed, and darkly noted he had an "accident" a couple of years later. Someone cleared their tracks of him.
These painful feelings and thoughts made her heart race. Pressure continued to push down on her. Breathing was difficult. Her hands were a little sweaty, and it seemed a cold chill had swept through her flaming hair as the red glow from the sunset died upon it, freezing fire into ice.
She placed her rump on a large, cold stone casket.
Cursed to forever be alone.
Teagan recalled the three months of amnesia she had after the event. Since she was thirteen and about to start her third year of magic school, someone at the hospital tutored her until she finally recalled every accursed bloody detail. Then, she transferred to Magic Horizons, a boarding school overseas.
The witch even admitted that she was from America. She consequently neglected to explained why she left.
In time, she overcame her fear of blood. She also recalled the many faces of those that died in battles or otherwise. Hayzie was one. She was a previous head girl who always loved to pull jokes and mischief and even managed to earn a chuckle on occasion. She even owned a shop around here. She was eventually butchered in Fenrir's Wood, wasn't she? She was ripped to rags like any old human. Dom was also important--someone even stole his poor forsaken corpse. He was kind, more than anything. Then, of course, Sephe and Sammy... Where were they? Even though she remained unfriendly for so many years out of fear and out of hate--oh, how the students she commanded frightened her down to the bones, engulfed in the blizzard of prophesied loss--and, oh, how she envied them.
Teagan felt blistered with cold. Her throat constricted. Pressure pummeled her eyes. She felt crushed. She could be pressed and pressed until she squished like a bug, and no one would ever know the difference. But that was okay, wasn't it..?
Why were her eyes wet..?
For but a moment, her true aura shone: that of a girl entombed by loneliness, suffocating, just as those here were bled of all light and human contact... forever more, alone.
Of course, no tears ever escaped, and her sorrow rapidly retreated.
"Orca?" Teagan called lightly, plastering a smile on her face.
Of course, her hero had come. He came with a glorious golden lantern to save her ice-cold heart and rescue her from frostbite. He was her sun in a tunnel of darkness, her God. Only His warmth could melt away the frost that killed her so slowly and shape it into an ice sculpture. And she loved him, didn't she?
Teagan smiled, plush lips curling cutely, her intensely dark thoughts hiding behind her skillful mask-like expressions.
Privately, she noted how her grip left His the moment she recalled her macabre memories, how she still fled as soon as she was scared, even from one she loved so dearly. Scared not of death or pain or punishment, but scared of losing something so invariably sacred. Her fear chased her away from even Him as though it were the Devil's beckoning call.
Certainly, these feelings--these feelings that gave her hope and pleasure and joy and the willpower to keep on living--certainly, they would not kill her from the inside. Her feelings for Orca would never betray her. They filled her up and made her whole, and, for once, they even made her happy. Only this faith that she finally found someone who wouldn't hurt her could keep her ticking.
Perhaps He would never know how much He meant in these brief, fleeting moments.
Her savior would never know why she was so unfriendly and cold before. Knowledge of her past, for this man, was the one thing she could never forgive.
The temperature dropped a little, and the Monolayre folded her hands.
The sun died over the horizon.
Weird, she thought.
And the sun was nearly set.
Oh, well.
Holding her beloved's hand like this, the young witch decided it would be perfectly fine if she were slayed feeling so damn happy.
She released his strong, magnificent hand and moved quickly ahead of him. Both sadness and familiarity pressed in upon her soul. Memories slapped her face, cursing her happiness. Just how many people did she know that died? Others that had gone "missing"? Her granny, for instance--although she hated that witch and even dueled her, someone else killed her behind her back. That, or the old witch and her shrunken centuries-old diabetic body went on an unannounced vacation to the Pacific and merely forgot to bring along her hoards of dough. But Teagan didn't care about that one. Her mother, though, and her sister and father--all killed on the same day. That day she should've been home.
Early that morning (very, very early), she sneaked into the Monolayre's hidey-hole and stole something quite important. It was all for revenge and for knowledge and for pride. (No one ever accused her of being the culprit in the six years since.)
That morning she escaped, all limbs attached, and took a nap outside, recovering from exhaustion and wounds as she welled with elation.
She came home. The world changed.
A bloodbath met her eyes and scarred her cognizance for eternity. Her sister was still gasping when Teagan st--
The Monolayre inhaled slowly for a moment.
The scene haunted her mind for years afterward. She could remember every splatter, every butchered limb, the cadavered corpses... her sister's last exhalations and how she was too weak to save her. Teagan recalled the assassin she nearly killed, and darkly noted he had an "accident" a couple of years later. Someone cleared their tracks of him.
These painful feelings and thoughts made her heart race. Pressure continued to push down on her. Breathing was difficult. Her hands were a little sweaty, and it seemed a cold chill had swept through her flaming hair as the red glow from the sunset died upon it, freezing fire into ice.
She placed her rump on a large, cold stone casket.
Cursed to forever be alone.
Teagan recalled the three months of amnesia she had after the event. Since she was thirteen and about to start her third year of magic school, someone at the hospital tutored her until she finally recalled every accursed bloody detail. Then, she transferred to Magic Horizons, a boarding school overseas.
The witch even admitted that she was from America. She consequently neglected to explained why she left.
In time, she overcame her fear of blood. She also recalled the many faces of those that died in battles or otherwise. Hayzie was one. She was a previous head girl who always loved to pull jokes and mischief and even managed to earn a chuckle on occasion. She even owned a shop around here. She was eventually butchered in Fenrir's Wood, wasn't she? She was ripped to rags like any old human. Dom was also important--someone even stole his poor forsaken corpse. He was kind, more than anything. Then, of course, Sephe and Sammy... Where were they? Even though she remained unfriendly for so many years out of fear and out of hate--oh, how the students she commanded frightened her down to the bones, engulfed in the blizzard of prophesied loss--and, oh, how she envied them.
Teagan felt blistered with cold. Her throat constricted. Pressure pummeled her eyes. She felt crushed. She could be pressed and pressed until she squished like a bug, and no one would ever know the difference. But that was okay, wasn't it..?
Why were her eyes wet..?
For but a moment, her true aura shone: that of a girl entombed by loneliness, suffocating, just as those here were bled of all light and human contact... forever more, alone.
Of course, no tears ever escaped, and her sorrow rapidly retreated.
"Orca?" Teagan called lightly, plastering a smile on her face.
Of course, her hero had come. He came with a glorious golden lantern to save her ice-cold heart and rescue her from frostbite. He was her sun in a tunnel of darkness, her God. Only His warmth could melt away the frost that killed her so slowly and shape it into an ice sculpture. And she loved him, didn't she?
Teagan smiled, plush lips curling cutely, her intensely dark thoughts hiding behind her skillful mask-like expressions.
Privately, she noted how her grip left His the moment she recalled her macabre memories, how she still fled as soon as she was scared, even from one she loved so dearly. Scared not of death or pain or punishment, but scared of losing something so invariably sacred. Her fear chased her away from even Him as though it were the Devil's beckoning call.
Certainly, these feelings--these feelings that gave her hope and pleasure and joy and the willpower to keep on living--certainly, they would not kill her from the inside. Her feelings for Orca would never betray her. They filled her up and made her whole, and, for once, they even made her happy. Only this faith that she finally found someone who wouldn't hurt her could keep her ticking.
Perhaps He would never know how much He meant in these brief, fleeting moments.
Her savior would never know why she was so unfriendly and cold before. Knowledge of her past, for this man, was the one thing she could never forgive.
The temperature dropped a little, and the Monolayre folded her hands.
The sun died over the horizon.