Disc: Nope, don't own Soul Calibur, but MAN I wish I did. |D
Notes: Why hello there everyone. I love you all for your supportive, encouraging reviews and all of your praise, even when it's not deserved. And many thanks to those who gave me constructive advice, because with your help, maybe I can make this story a little better~
Also, want to give a big hueg thanks to SephiBea--'cause without her, this chapter would have remained in my hard-drive for many many more months!
Warning!: It's a very AU-ish version to Talim's storyline. I mean, completely AU. So, please, before you get all up on my case about the butchered-ness of it, remember: AU. Thank you!
Also as a warning, to my displeasure, I will have to introduce an OC. Blergh. I hate these things in my fiction, but for this case, it's needed. Don't worry, she won't be a Sue, I promise :3 Although you're probably going to hate her anyway, since she's written to be hated.
--
TRANSLATIONS (still in use, for the moment):
Spanish --
Raven: cuervo
--
What was this?
It was warmth; the kind that seeped into a weary, bruised body and filled it with energy. The snug, gentle reassurance of arms around her waist, hands digging just so gently in her back. The slight rise and fall of a person's breathing, the steady drumming of a heart. The faint traces of artificial lavender, and beneath it, the strange, spicy scent of life. Even the musty smell of the sheets only served to add to the magic.
What was this?
This was something akin to ecstasy. Or maybe it was ecstasy. Or maybe it was something entirely different. Her mind was too sleep befuddled to decide.
She sighed out a breath as her mind half rose into consciousness, the other still submerged in the gentle rise and fall of dreams. She wiggled, rising more into awareness as the hands on her back tensed, blunt nails pressing into her skin, a soft sound, almost like a coo, echoing in her ears.
Breathing out a tiny little mewl and giving into her fate, Talim opened her eyes, the corners of her vision still hazed with sleep. Last night had been positively awful. It felt like she'd barely gotten any sleep at all. She sat up and yawned, one hand rubbing at her eyes and the other resting against a warm, smooth expanse of bare skin--
Talim stilled. Her eye, the one not covered by the heel of her hand, grew owlishly huge, and the yawn caught in her throat in a bubble of air. The eye looked down, and the bubble popped with a humiliating, girlish squeak.
The crimson wrap that had served as both clothing and nightwear for her friend was open.
Which meant that Tira was, unmistakably, undeniably naked.
Which also meant that she was straddling her taller (and naked!) friend in a very non platonic sort of way.
Talim sprung away, lithe and graceful like a doe, reaching back with her hand and catching the creaky wood of the footboard, using that one hand to flip herself over and land in a silent crouch.
She then toppled onto her bottom with another squeak as Tira let out a small gasp and sat up, awakened from Talim being wrenched from her grip. Talim clamped two hands over her eyes and crouched into herself, sitting lotus style, her face heating up.
"T-Talim?" There was a husky quality to Tira's voice that just should not have been. Talim felt the heat in her face rise another notch. "W-wha's wrong?" Tira paused as she yawned. "Trouble?"
"No! No trouble, everything's fine," Talim said in a rush.
A beat of silence. Talim heard the creaking of the bed and, as she peeked from the spaces between her fingers, she saw Tira's head come into view. Noting that her friend still hadn't covered up, Talim closed her fingers and drew them tighter against her eyes.
"You look horrible," Tira said bluntly, but not meanly.
"And you're very nude." Talim gasped and sputtered, "Rude! I mean you're very rude!"
This was followed by a heavy pause. Talim's heart pounded loud and strong in her ears.
"Oh...Uhm." Tira's voice seemed to waver, as if caught between concerned and confused. Like she didn't know which to feel... "I'm sorry? For...being rude?"
Talim mumbled something incoherent and slumped further into herself. She considered pulling her hands away from her eyes, then thought better of it. "You—you don't have to apologize, Tira. You haven't done anything wrong, I'm just..." Talim closed her mouth and gathered her thoughts. "I'm just being silly."
Tira was silent. Then she said in a voice that was tinged ever so lightly with concern, "Are you sure you're okay? And why are you on the floor?"
"I d-didn't want to disturb your breast. Rest! Your rest!" The young priestess felt her skin alight with humiliation. She hadn't meant to say...to say that word, really she hadn't! It had just slipped out! She groaned a little as the moment repeated itself in her brain, tormenting her. What she wouldn't give for the ability to erase time. She pressed her fingers hard into her forehead, as if to literally push the thoughts to the furthest recesses of her brain. The part that would never see the light of day again...
"Ah, my bre...oh. I—sorry." The mattress squealed loudly as Tira moved, searching for her cover. Talim tried to think of her grandmother's mantra, the small prayer that she had been taught for times such as this, when she was out of control of her own body.
The Wind is with me, and I am calmed. The Wind is with me, and I am calmed. The Wind is with...
"I'm decent," Tira called out softly. Talim creaked open a small space in between her fingers and cautiously peeked open an eye. Deeming it safe, she relinquished the hold on her eyes and let her hands drop to her lap. And she wished she hadn't, because she found herself unable to blink or look away.
...someone else at the moment, and I am most certainly not calmed.
Tira was, indeed, as decent as one in her situation could be. But there was a certain effect the older girl cast that made Talim's heart race wildly. Her short, unevenly cut hair was wild, in an attractive sort of way, framing her cheeks and face. Her eyes were...stunning. The vivid purple of her eyes was chipped, almost like shattered ice. Talim could see the tiniest flecks of red amidst the purple.
"You're staring."
"Huh," Talim replied with in a small voice, and blinked at last, as if awaking from a dream once more.
Tira blew a strand of hair out of her vibrant eyes. "You're staring at me."
"I am?" Talim covered her eyes again and felt her cheeks burst into flame—metaphorically of course. "Sorry..."
"S'okay," Tira said, and Talim had the image of her shrugging her pale shoulders. "...I didn't mind."
The Wind is with me, and I am...oh, stuff it. Talim ran her hand down her face, to the medallion around her neck. She held it in her hand, warmed the metal with her palm...and only then did she feel an almost eerie calm wash over her. The heat left her cheeks, at last, and her stomach stopped its churning.
"I'm glad I didn't offend you," she said, smiling. Tira gave a soft hum in reply, eyes unreadable at that moment.
"We should get moving," the girl said briskly, standing from the bed and smoothing the red cloth over her hips. She looked at the mess of covers, her lips curled into a confused frown.
"Right," Talim agreed, standing up as well. She brushed out the wrinkles from her top and shorts, wishing she had at least brought something else to sleep in. She sighed, pulling on her stockings and shoes, and redoing her braids. Her hair looked halfway decent now, at least.
Tira, however, looked rather at a loss when she touched her own hair. She made a low noise in her throat when her fingers caught a tangle, wincing a little as she tugged it free.
"I'll have to see if we can get you a comb, or something," Talim said, watching the older girl prod and poke her hair.
The morning silence was shattered, suddenly, by the cry of one of Tira's Watchers. Tira stilled, eyes curiously blank. Her lips parted, as a second cry joined the first, and then another. Talim watched this, her stomach coiling.
Tira exploded into action, suddenly, tackling Talim to the ground with a speed that bordered on inhuman. Talim's startled shriek was cut off by one of the raven haired girl's hands clamping tightly onto her mouth, and then the two were beneath the bed. Unsettled at the girl's behavior, her nearness, and her strength, Talim began to struggle, muscles tensing.
"Shhh!" Tira hissed into her ear, throwing a leg over Talim's hips to keep her from moving. Talim felt her face flush again with heat, and she went limp. Talim focused instead on trying to breath correctly—it didn't help that Tira's arms were uncomfortably tight and her face was pressed into the hair on Tira's shoulder.
What's wrong, she wanted to ask—and then she heard the softest little chirp. It sounded musical in tone, sweet and light.
"Don't move," Tira mouthed against her ear; Talim froze again, felt her heart start to pound. The chirp sounded again—although, Talim noted, now there was a dark edge to it. A tap, tap, tap, and then—shattering glass. The fluttering of wings and the chirping again. A sudden wind pushed into the room and Talim heard a voice that seemed familiar, and yet unfamiliar. It wasn't the voice of the wind, exactly, more like a voice of someone she had known, and yet forgotten.
--danger-- the voice warned.
Talim closed her eyes. And Tira's arms tightened, and she drew in a breath and held it.
--danger-- the voice said again, in a raspy tone.
They both heard the soft 'pat' as something settled on the bed above them. The chirp again. Talim could feel Tira's heart where it thundered against her own, felt the dust in her eyes. For a sickening moment, she thought that she might sneeze.
Then Tira's voice, low and softer than it had even been before, ghosted over the shell of her ear.
"Danger."
–
Their intruder was nothing but a mere bird—a nightingale, by the sound of it. A tiny little creature, who sang such a lovely tune at night. Nature's own little musician. Surely, it was the symbol of innocence.
Still, every one of Tira's internal alarms were ringing. The cries from her Watchers previously had warned her of danger—and indeed, there was. She saw what they saw; she heard what they heard. She felt what they felt, to a degree—it was the closest she had ever been to another living thing.
And the minute her Watchers had spied this little, feathered songbird, they had been alarmed. They had concealed themselves within the trees near the inn, but still gave her a view of the nightingale.
The very word nightingale made her head hurt; something important—some sort of memory—was associated with this bird. But what? Who? Her lack of knowledge frustrated her.
She's found you, the Other said grimly. Guess who found you, fool. See, this is why you should have killed the chit when you had the chance! Killed her, and went on your way; but no, you just had to stay. Now look where it's landed you!
Shut up, Tira demanded. Now's really not the time.
Make me.
Tira bit back a sigh and ground her teeth when the songbird intruder forced its way inside by breaking the glass. This cemented Tira's rising suspicion that this was no ordinary bird. Something dark was pushing it, something evil lurked beneath its skin.
Kind of like you.
Didn't I tell you to shut up, Tira thought back, her head starting to pound. Talking to the Other was a pain on its own—now she had the building frustration inside of her to cope with. The potent mixture of negative emotions stirred hot inside of her gut, and she tightened her grip on Talim--
Talim.
Her fault we're in this me--
For the last time, shut up! At least Talim was following her instructions. The girl hadn't moved or said a peep after Tira had told her to be still. There were going to be bruises from where her fingers dug into Talim's shoulder, Tira realized. Later, she thought to herself, she was going to berate herself for it—for now, she was more worried about the nightingale that stank of evil.
"Danger?" Talim whispered back, her voice nothing more than a wash of air against Tira's throat. "Explain."
Tira paused, muscles tensed when the bird fluttered around the room, chirping loudly. Darkly. Almost growling...
"Evil," Tira mumbled at last, careful not to breathe in the dust from beneath the bed, lest she sneeze or cough. And she couldn't help adding, "Evil like me."
She could feel Talim's lips curve into a frown from where they were pressed against her neck. Tira froze, her stomach pushing her heart into her throat. She hadn't really noticed how close they had become. She closed her eyes, bit her tongue—hard. The Other was silent, for once, perhaps unsure of how to respond.
Finally, Talim spoke, "Let me go."
A chill seeped in her bones, for some reason. Tira croaked softly, "Why?"
"I have a plan."
And just like that, the chill was gone. Again, the Other had nothing to say.
"What is it?"
Above them, the nightingale actually screamed in rage. Songbirds didn't do that.
"Let me go," Talim said, her mouth forming each word against Tira's neck, "and you'll find out."
–
Tira arms tightened briefly. For a moment, Talim thought she wasn't going to let go—and then the arms loosened.
"Can you see the bird," she asked breathlessly, quiet as she could muster. Tira's eyes went blank again, sightless and yet, all-seeing. Finally, she blinked and nodded. "Where is it?"
"Near the door," Tira murmured. "Back's facing us."
"Does it know we're here?"
"Yeah. Doesn't know where, but it knows we're in here."
"Distract it," Talim asked. Tira frowned a little, almost about to ask how—when she saw a piece of wood, perhaps the head of an old toy, sitting forgotten amongst the dust. Tira grabbed it and took a breath. She quickly threw it out from beneath the bed, where it clattered against the wall that held the window.
The bird let out a screech of triumph and fluttered to the source of the noise. Tira shirked back further beneath the bed, while Talim rolled from under it. She crouched, and held still.
The bird was a nightingale—was being the key word. Its brown feathers were matted with blood, and its wings were crooked and shaped wrong. It's small feet were tipped with ugly talons, and its breath rasped from its beak with ugly, wet sounds.
And from it pulsed the dark aura that had become so familiar to her. Tira had been right—the same evil that lurked within her friend had completely possessed this innocent little creature.
Luckily, Talim had experience with this.
She summoned a chill breeze, the wind blowing in strong from the hole made by the deformed songbird. Gathering her own wind around her hands, she leaped forward and managed to snag the bird.
Her hands began to sting from the dreaded contact. The bird's distorted energy clashed with her own, the difference something akin to fire blooming on her skin—or perhaps, something like ice. The nightingale let out another scream, head thrown back in a sick arch on its spine. The head rolled on its neck, beak snapping and shrill voice screaming.
It felt like a nightmare. Maybe it was a nightmare.
With a sickening crunch, the nightingale's head spun one hundred eighty degrees on its neck and looked her dead in the eye.
Talim knew that the bird was dead—she felt its tiny pulse skitter to a halt beneath the feathers. Something was wrong-- because the evil energy still burned her. She ground her teeth and tried to completely suppress the evil with her own, larger power.
It was working. She felt the evil pulse out, once, weakly; the songbird's beak opened—and then, like a candle snuffed out, the evil energy was gone. The bird had been purified. Talim let out a breath of relief.
And then something inside of her reared up, something dark and ugly and vicious. The bird in her hands shrieked a cackle; and even though blood spewed from its beak and its heart didn't beat, it flew from her hands, and in mid air, righted its body with another crunch of bone. It laughed, the sound bouncing off the inside of her skull and Talim felt the thing in her chest grow. Her knees buckled and she collapsed onto her back. She ached.
Found you.
She screamed as the thing furling from her chest. She smelled a dark, spicy scent; blood spattered petals rose from her chest and into the sky, roots dug deeper into her body, thorns pricked the inside of her skin, and the nightingale above her continued to squeal and she was dying, she was dying--
"Talim!!"
--dying--
Found you, I found you, and I'm coming to play.
--dying--
"Talim, wake up, wake up; it's over, it's over--"
--dying--
Tira...
--dead.--
–
"No, no, no." Her hands were shaking. Why were her hands shaking? She had to stop shaking.
Calm. Have to be calm. Think of how Talim would—oh god, Talim.
"Shit, Talim. Breathe with me. Talim. Talim!"
Tira had known something was going horribly wrong the moment Talim had closed her hands around that damn bird. There was something that didn't sit right with her—her Watchers were in an uproar. She could feel their panic just as strong as her own—although she forced it back down her own throat. There was someone, another Other, peeking up out of her mess of a brain, reaching out with greedy fingers to suck her under.
Let me feel this for you, it cooed, let me ease you.
She'd ignored it. As blissful as the lack of feeling was, she needed to be coherent enough for Talim. Talim, who was on her back in the throes of something. Something that was robbing her of breath—her lips were starting to turn blue.
The panic came back in a surging rage, followed closely by sorrow.
She pressed her hands to her eyes, hard, to push the Other(s) away. Then she bit her fingers and started to cry, hot little tears sliding down her cheeks. She found herself muttering, "Please don't die..."
One minute Talim had the little demon bird in her hands, and Tira could feel the sizzle of clashing energy. The next, the bird dropped from her hands like a stone—dead, but purified. And then the next, Talim had dropped to the floor in convulsions.
She didn't know what to do. She didn't know anything—Talim was the more knowledgeable one. Talim knew what was needed and what was not.
Tip her on her side.
The harsh bark from the Other was startling—the voice rough with an emotion that Tira couldn't place. If, in fact, the Other had emotions at all.
I don't, but you do. And all your damn whining is getting on my last nerve. Hey, you want her to choke on her own spit? No? Then tip her on her side.
Tira reached out and shirked back when Talim's back arched off the ground and her mouth opened in a silent scream.
Hurry!
Tira did as she was told, gently moving the shuddering girl onto her side. Talim's body obeyed without complaint, but it still writhed. Rasping noises told Tira that she had at least started to breathe again.
What do I do now? She asked silently.
Just back off. Let her go.
That same, scary chill from before seeped in at the words.
Then Talim screamed. Her body thrashed on the ground, and her eyes were open—but they were unseeing. Her hands clawed at her chest, and she was crying out, tearing at the skin there and screaming.
Tira grabbed her wrists, held the body still. "Talim," she said weakly, then again when the girl didn't respond. Finally, she shouted Talim's name; the girl stopped then, looked up and straight through Tira. The chill in her body sank in all to her bones when she saw Talim's blank, tortured stare.
"Thorns," the girl sobbed.
And then she started fighting again, against a demon in her mind and her body.
"Something," she bit out, gasping for breath, "coming. Singing. The nightingale. It's still alive!"
"Talim, wake up, wake up; it's over, it's over. The bird's dead. It's dead." The tears were coming faster, now. Her heart pounded in her ears, trying to drown out Talim and the Other and everything in the whole damn world. Tira closed her eyes, hauled the shaking body in her arms. She pinned Talim's flailing arms to her sides, biting her tongue when the screaming started again.
A raven fluttered to the sill, cried out. Run, it said, purple eyes flaring. Run, run, danger still!
She heard a sick, wet pop. Tira clutched at Talim closer, looked down at the little body of the dead nightingale. The raven on the window cried out, harsher; Run!
The nightingale's head rose, and blank, red eyes stared deep into her own. Tira saw a pulse run through it—it was refilled with that evil energy Talim had cleansed not a minute ago. The auburn haired girl shrieked even louder as her body registered the vile wave, and Tira felt the hair on the back of her neck stand. Her skin tightened as she looked down at the disgusting puppet of a bird.
The nightingale observed both girls, clacked its beak, and spat blood at her feet—something in Tira's mind clicked, at that moment, and her heart lurched when she remembered the sign.
Marked for death.
The bird whistled, stared long and hard at Talim. Then it turned back to Tira, and she could feel another set of eyes peering outward from the bird's face. Something else was inside of that bird, a second soul, another, more intelligent and dangerous being. Its eyes lit up with recognition, and rasped, "One of us."
And it screeched, took off into the air and back through the window, causing the raven to fly off in alarm. The Watcher fluffed its feathers in agitation, and turned to Tira, crying from behind the glass; Run! Danger coming! Run, run!
Tira remained unmoving, cold inside and out. One of us?
You idiot, listen to the damn birds and run! Shrieked the Other, banging her fists against the inside of Tira's skull.
What do I do? What do I do?
You're useless! Do I have to do everything myself!?
No! No, not now, no, I can handle this, Tira panicked, rose to her feet with Talim's shaking body still in her arms. She had to get Talim's weapons in her arms somehow, as well as her ring-blade, and the rucksack, and—it was too much. Too much. Overwhelmed, she sank on her haunches and laid her hot forehead to Talim's alarmingly cold skin. Too much, too much....
You can't do a thing without me, sneered the Other—and Tira waited for the world to go black...
...except it didn't. Not completely. She felt the same detachment from her body back when she was in the constant thrall of the voices in her head, but she could still see out of her own eyes. Tira watched as her body rose, no longer trembling, no longer crying. The chill was gone, or at least, Tira could no longer feel it.
"Fine mess you've got us into now, dear," drawled the Other from Tira's lips. "Must I really be responsible for everything in your meager existence? Don't answer," she said when Tira gathered the strength to form a mental reply. "That was rhetoric."
What are—how did—what's going on, Tira finally managed. She saw the Other shift Talim in her arms, and bit out, Don't hurt her!
"Oh, please. Are you going to spank me if I do?"
I'll make you regret you're alive, Tira said, making her voice lower to the same timbre as the Other's.
"Oh hell," scoffed the Other. "You're an idiot. A melodramatic idiot. And you can't even come up with good threats." Tira watched her arms lower Talim onto the bed. Talim let out a feeble noise, and trembled. She turned on her side, curled up, bunched the sheets in her fists. Her skin was so pale—and the palms of her hands looked like she had just grabbed hot steel. Gods, what had happened?
The Other turned, strode to the window, and propped it open. She whistled for the Watchers, who had noticed the change in their mistress. Their eyes, Tira noted, were red, but it wasn't the same as the nightingale's.
"Check the skies," the Other ordered. The ravens burst from the tree they had hidden in, beginning to scan the skies for more intruders. The Other smirked, turned from the window, and grabbed the ring-blade and Talim's rucksack. It was heavy—a peek inside revealed that Talim's weapons had been put inside. The Other hissed when her hand touched the steel of the ringblade, and without further ado, she dropped the items down onto the ground.
Satisfied, the Other made her way back to the bed, lifting Talim back up in her arms. The girl whimpered again.
"Oh, how cute," the Other said dryly. "I think I might vomit."
Tira bristled. Don't you dare hu--
"Fuck off, I heard you the first time," she snapped. "Now, kindly shut up. I'm getting our asses out of this mess."
Why?
The Other paused. Then she said, "I told you before. I can't stand your constant whining. It makes me sick. And it's damn annoying."
Or maybe you've had a sudden change of heart?
"You wish. Now, again, shut up. I need to concentrate."
But--
"Shut up. Or I'll make you go away for real this time."
Tira was silent. The Other hooked Talim higher up in her arms and made her way to the open window. She climbed onto the sill, hissing a little as she rocked back and forth. Her muscles tensed, coiled, and after a pause, she leaped for the tree. Luck was on their side, to Tira's relief—the managed to land on a good branch, prickly twigs breaking against her skin. Talim, for the most part, hadn't been harmed—yet. The Other slunk down the tree, and the landed with catlike grace on the grass. She stood shook her head free of leaves and twigs. She set Talim down on the base of the trunk and went to grab the ring-blade and rucksack.
How is this gonna work, Tira asked weakly.
"Simple. The pipsqueak holds the bag, I hold the pipsqueak on my back, and loop the ring-blade around my shoulder."
What if--
"I know what I'm doing." The Other huffed. "By the way, do you know the meaning of shut up?"
Without waiting for a reply, the Other moved fast—she slid the rucksack on Talim's shoulders, slid the unconscious girl on her back, and managed to hook her weapon on a shoulder.
Then they ran. Tira was surprised at the way the Other moved her body—the Other felt no exhaustion, only the relentless forward movement. The Watchers were following them, giving them cover and an alarm system.
So they ran, farther and farther away; the demonic nightingale was nowhere to be seen.
Still, its words rang through Tira's mind.
One of us...
But who, exactly, was 'us'?
–
"Welcome back, mon petit ami. How'd it go?"
Her voice was like the surface of an undisturbed pond—quiet, smooth. Peaceful.
Too bad it was a lie.
"Don't be shy, c'mon, tell me."
She already knew. The mistress was always with them. She had been a lurker inside the nightingale's mind, inside of its soul. The mistress knew exactly how everything had played out.
"Aw, not up for sharing, mon petit ami? Then let me fill in for you. The rest of the class should know just how splendid you did on your mission, non?"
The trees around them burst into song, the rest of the flock crying out in agreement.
"Ah, oui, oui! You all want to know how he did, don't you, mon bébés! See,ami, you have such an eager audience. Let's not keep them waiting. Curtain's up, it's showtime."
The nightingale shrieked when clawed fingers dug into its frail body. Its mistress was furious and it knew it. All among the trees, its brethren each sang in delight at its suffering.
"Ladies and gentlemen, allow me to introduce mon petit ami's tragic tale of failure."
The bird clicked its beak, weakly.
"No no, none of that," the mistress chuckled, dirty red eyes alight with hellfire. "No excuses," she sing-songed. "You see, you fucked up." She laughed, tossed her hair. The string of cracked pearls tied into the tangles of her hair clicked together in a morbid melody. The mistress laughed again, "You really, really fucked up!"
The songbird cheeped, head lolling on its neck. Its eyes rolled in its skull, little lungs fighting for air in vain as the mistress tightened her fist. The birds around them screamed in rapture.
"You see, everyone, mon petit ami was told to find and follow our old friend, Le Corbeau."
The nightingales in the trees all cried out with anger at the name, red eyes blazing and feathers puffin out in fury.
"Oh, such anger at Le Corbeau, non?" she giggled to the songbird she held in her fist. Her red stained mouth spread in a wide grin, empty eyes sparkling as blood trickled from the bird's beak. "Don't die now, mon ami, I haven't gotten to the good part.
"Ladies and gentlemen, allow moi to continue, s'il vous plaît? Merci, merci. As I was saying, our hero here had the task of finding Le Corbeau. He succeeded in this, oui. But do you know what he was not supposed to do?
"He wasn't supposed to engage her! He was supposed to track her, allow moi to keep an eye on our slippery villain. But, alas, he did not do as I ordered. Non, quite the opposite.
"He was captured by a curious little girl who happened to be tagging along with our villain. And mon petit ami was cleansed and then he died.
"Ah, but la petit fille was weak! I was able to save mon petit ami, oui, but not before Le Corbeau noticed us. And now, she will be that much harder to find again."
The mistress finished her tale and looked down at the trembling little animal she held in her grip. Her grin widened even further, eyes glowing brighter.
"And that's how you fucked up, mon ami."
She threw the creature to the ground, stomped on him with the heel of her boot. After hearing the squealing cries of the nightingale and the crunch of bones, the mistress raised her gleaming weapon, evil energy crackling all around the razor sharp edges. She toyed with it a little, allowing the ring-blade to slowly swing back and forth.
With a laugh, she dropped it on the nightingale's neck, severing its head. The birds all around her exploded into song, victorious with the kill.
The mistress watched the blood pool around the feathered corpse. She lifted her weapon, swiped her finger over the warm liquid on its silver surface. She rolled it on her fingers, then smeared the blood all along her lips. She wheezed a laugh, regarding her reflection in the ring-blade. Perfection.
"Ah, much better. Now then; stop with the celebration, mon bébés! We have another show to put on!"
She faced the west, where her now dead Watcher had flown in. She smiled, clicked her tongue.
"The stage is set. The actors are in place. And Le Rossignol is the star. Curtain's up."
The nightingales flew off towards the west when she waved her hand, black, tattered lace gloves hanging from her fingers.
"Presenting: La Tragédie du Corbeau."
–
TBC
--
Notes: GOD. DAMN. OHMYGOD, NO MORE, PLZ.
Long chapter, but that's to make up for the uber long wait.
ANYWAYS, I like this chapter for some reason, even though all that happened was
A) Talim got weird cause Tira was nekkid
B) Talim then had a seizure because I am a bitchface
C) The Other was actually pretty awesome
D) OC was introduced (sorta)
E) ???
F) PROFIT.
Lol, anyways, sorry for the gratuitous French in this last part, but the OC is evil and evil people are French.
NOTICE I SAID EVIL PEOPLE ARE FRENCH. NOT FRENCH PEOPLE ARE EVIL. BECAUSE THAT WOULD BE RACIST.
Anyways, the French is pretty basic. Moi = me, oui = yes, non = no, petit = little, fille = girl, ami = friend, bébés = babies.
Le Corbeau = The Raven
Le Rossignol = The Nightingale
and finally La Tragédie du Corbeau = The Tragedy of the Raven.
Yikes. Exams are tomorrow. Gotta skeedaddle then.