Prologue
The winter wind blew gently but hauntingly through her dark red hair. She walked slowly on this cold night, taking in the scenery as memories came back to her. Memories of him. How they had played tag in these woods when they were children. And they would practice witchcraft together after they were a little bit older. Then the times came when they ran through these woods to get away from the danger. The other people in the woods. The ones who wanted her dead. They still came after her, even today, years later. It had been two and a half years since he had died.
Azekiel Armar.
He had short, blonde hair and piercing green eyes. They seemed to star straight through her soul, captivating her. She had always loved his eyes. They were a different color green than most people had. They were lighter, slightly faded, and they had this thin dark green ring around the outside. He was tall, slightly built with good-sized muscles. He had a good sense of humor, too. She recalled the time she had lit candles for a certain spell and he had come over, asking her if she was trying to “set the mood.”
And then he died, and it was a horrible death. Not one that he deserved. And she didn’t deserve it either, having to watch him die like he did. And she still blamed herself for everything. Because, somehow, everything that went wrong seemed to point towards her. She considered suicide several times, but then his death would have been useless.
The moonlight on the soft earth, the breeze blowing gently through the grass. The graveyard was well lit by the full moon, and she could see his grave. The flowers had long since died, and she had brought fresh flowers. Roses and fly catchers. Fly catchers weren’t usually a flower to put on a grave, but they meant something to her. She remembered the time when they were in the woods together, walking through all the fly catchers. They were both very young, and she was afraid. When he asked why, she had told him that her father said that they would try to eat her leg when she walked by them. To prove her wrong, he grabbed her hand and stuck her finger inside one of them. When it didn’t eat her, she smiled and laughed, making fun of her father for being so stupid.
“Emora Deen,” she heard a familiar male voice say. She looked up to see Azekiel’s older brother, Nathaniel, standing there. He was wearing the same thing as always. Black pants a shirt, along with the black trench coat. He wore it open from the waist down, facing the breeze as it made the tail of the coat wisp behind him. He had dark brown hair and dark eyes. They looked completely black to her, and they glistened with some sort of demonic beauty. How demonic could be beautiful, she didn’t know, but he was. In fact, he was very attractive. Just as Azekiel was, but Azekiel’s attractiveness was more angelic and less demonic.
“Nathaniel,” she replied, standing up after having kneeled at the grave and setting her flowers down. There was fear in her voice and on her face. She truly feared Nathaniel, and she hated him more than anyone in the world.
“Why do you still mourn? Wasn’t it obvious he wanted to die?” His voice was rasping and irritating, yet seductive and smooth. He had this arrogant smirk on his face that he always wore. His lips must have been stuck that way.
“It wasn’t his fault,” she said, refusing to make eye contact with him. “You know nothing but blood and hatred and death.” She could smell the sulfur, stronger now than ever.
“And lust,” he added as he walked towards her. Her hazel eyes were filled with fear, and she knew she couldn’t fight him. He would have his way once again. And like flames of Hell, he neared her, and she was engulfed in the burning fire once again.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Yes, I used the name Emora Deen. I just like the name, and I think it fits the character. O.o I hope I don't jynx you, Emora. Lmao.
Theialet
-
Meagan
((Sorry for the short chapter. And I'm sorry it took a month to write it!! But.... the first few chapters are going to be kind of boring. I have to introduce all of the characters and somewhat explain their past. After that's out of the way, it will get interesting. I promise! -sweatdrop-))
Chapter 1
Her life was Hell, that was for sure. And not even the government tried to justify what happened to her. Didn’t every person hold the right to pursue happiness. Damn these people, going against the written document of their forefathers! She thought this legal system was supposed to be just. Well, apparently a slap on the hand was just enough for her sexually abusive father. Here he had been abusing her and having his way with her. Using her like some kind of toy that he could throw aside when he had finished “play time“.
It had been this way for almost two years. Not to mention her step mom, who had been verbally abusive for even longer. Since she was ten years old, actually, and she was now fifteen. She supposed she hadn’t told anyone for so long, not because she was embarrassed, but because she was afraid of leaving the family that loved her. Not as in her stepmother, stepsiblings, and father, but her cousins and grandparents. They were so kind and gentle, knowing nothing of what was going on to their beloved relative. The only girl born into the family on that side, but she wasn’t spoiled. She was treated more like a boy, actually. Always hanging out and playing with her older male cousins when she was younger. Especially Vann. He was her hero.
“Kirael! If you don’t figure out the code soon, we’re all going to die!” he said once.
They were playing a game, and she was no older than five. Vann was an adventurer, trying to save the people of London from a time bomb at the bus station. She giggled and began pressing buttons on their “time bomb,” which was actually an old keyboard from their grandmother’s computer that no longer worked.
“I got the code!” she exclaimed, throwing her hands in the air. “We saved London!”
“Kirael’s a hero!” he said, picking her up quite easily since he was four years older than she was.
But like anyone would be calling her a hero now. Here she was now, holding a sharp blade to her wrist. If no one was going to help her, if no one was going to stop him, she would have to end things herself. Her hair was pulled back in a ponytail, but a few loose strands fell over her eyes. She looked in the mirror at her self, tears wetting her cheeks as they flowed from her eyes.
Who was that girl she saw today? Yes, that red-headed girl with the hazel eyes. She had come up to her that day, framed her face and stared deep into her eyes. “You have his eyes,” she said before she began to cry. “Those green eyes… The same shape and everything. Even that look of confusion I see in them now.” She smiled, and released her face. She then began sobbing, and Kirael began to recognize her somewhat. She was a grade ahead of her, and they went to school together.
“Whose eyes?” she asked, trying to understand the crying girl. “Ex-boyfriend?”
“Sort of,” she replied with a sad smile. There was a look of loss in her dark, hazel orbs, and sort of emptiness that lacked any kind of happiness. Kirael understood that pain, that sense of loss, though she doubted it was the same situation. It seemed the redhead was dealing with heartbreak, and the depression was hurting her mentally and physically.
Kirael continued to stare at her reflection, wondering what the girl had been talking about, and it was probably that very curiosity that made her put down the knife and go back to bed. Maybe she could help her. Maybe they could understand each other. There was just something about her that made her want to know more about her situation. She was so awkward, and that’s what made her want to understand her.
What good would dying do anyway? What would people say? “Damn emo kid… Why can’t they just learn to appreciate life?”
She decided to just give it up, so she turned off the light and laid back down. Besides, wasn’t suicide just admitting that she was to weak to face her own life? That she was afraid? She was stubborn, and she wasn’t about to become a coward by running away from her life. She could get through this… somehow…
“What you need, Kirael, is a boyfriend,” some of her female classmates had told her several days before. “But you’ll never get one if you’re always acting so depressed. I mean, who wants to date a girl who’s constantly moping about her pathetic life?” They would began laughing at her and mocking her.
“Boo hoo. My name is Kirael… “ they’d say. “And I want do die because my daddy loves me more than he should.”
“Or maybe it’s because he doesn’t love her at all” another one would say.
“Yeah! Kirael is daddy’s little whore!”
She had tried her best to contain her temper, letting them mock her. Because they wanted her to get mad. If she let them know how hurt she was by their words, then they would have won the game. As much as she tried to ignore them, it just ripped her apart inside. Daddy’s little whore… It was just cruel.
It was almost as if someone was planning out all of this. Like someone wanted this to happen to her. Her father had been such a good person before. They had so much fun together. She was daddy’s little girl, not whore. She still had pictures of them together, back when her blonde hair reached halfway down her back. Now, it was cut just past her shoulders and had black streaks in it. Her eyes were blue back then, and they had turned into a vibrant gray-green over the years. Her favorite picture with her father was one where she was standing on the edge of the trampoline “Santa Clause” had just brought her. She had her arms wrapped around her father’s neck to hug him, and they were both smiling. Anyone looking at the picture would ask who the little girl was, complimenting on how cute and beautiful she was. They would have never suspected that she would become what she was now. A gothic teen, her heart tattered and torn, her mind tainted with things she never wanted to know, underweight, suicidal, and scarred with emotional wounds.
Chapter 1
Her life was Hell, that was for sure. And not even the government tried to justify what happened to her. Didn’t every person hold the right to pursue happiness. Damn these people, going against the written document of their forefathers! She thought this legal system was supposed to be just. Well, apparently a slap on the hand was just enough for her sexually abusive father. Here he had been abusing her and having his way with her. Using her like some kind of toy that he could throw aside when he had finished “play time“.
It had been this way for almost two years. Not to mention her step mom, who had been verbally abusive for even longer. Since she was ten years old, actually, and she was now fifteen. She supposed she hadn’t told anyone for so long, not because she was embarrassed, but because she was afraid of leaving the family that loved her. Not as in her stepmother, stepsiblings, and father, but her cousins and grandparents. They were so kind and gentle, knowing nothing of what was going on to their beloved relative. The only girl born into the family on that side, but she wasn’t spoiled. She was treated more like a boy, actually. Always hanging out and playing with her older male cousins when she was younger. Especially Vann. He was her hero.
“Kirael! If you don’t figure out the code soon, we’re all going to die!” he said once.
They were playing a game, and she was no older than five. Vann was an adventurer, trying to save the people of London from a time bomb at the bus station. She giggled and began pressing buttons on their “time bomb,” which was actually an old keyboard from their grandmother’s computer that no longer worked.
“I got the code!” she exclaimed, throwing her hands in the air. “We saved London!”
“Kirael’s a hero!” he said, picking her up quite easily since he was four years older than she was.
But like anyone would be calling her a hero now. Here she was now, holding a sharp blade to her wrist. If no one was going to help her, if no one was going to stop him, she would have to end things herself. Her hair was pulled back in a ponytail, but a few loose strands fell over her eyes. She looked in the mirror at her self, tears wetting her cheeks as they flowed from her eyes.
Who was that girl she saw today? Yes, that red-headed girl with the hazel eyes. She had come up to her that day, framed her face and stared deep into her eyes. “You have his eyes,” she said before she began to cry. “Those green eyes… The same shape and everything. Even that look of confusion I see in them now.” She smiled, and released her face. She then began sobbing, and Kirael began to recognize her somewhat. She was a grade ahead of her, and they went to school together.
“Whose eyes?” she asked, trying to understand the crying girl. “Ex-boyfriend?”
“Sort of,” she replied with a sad smile. There was a look of loss in her dark, hazel orbs, and sort of emptiness that lacked any kind of happiness. Kirael understood that pain, that sense of loss, though she doubted it was the same situation. It seemed the redhead was dealing with heartbreak, and the depression was hurting her mentally and physically.
Kirael continued to stare at her reflection, wondering what the girl had been talking about, and it was probably that very curiosity that made her put down the knife and go back to bed. Maybe she could help her. Maybe they could understand each other. There was just something about her that made her want to know more about her situation. She was so awkward, and that’s what made her want to understand her.
What good would dying do anyway? What would people say? “Damn emo kid… Why can’t they just learn to appreciate life?”
She decided to just give it up, so she turned off the light and laid back down. Besides, wasn’t suicide just admitting that she was to weak to face her own life? That she was afraid? She was stubborn, and she wasn’t about to become a coward by running away from her life. She could get through this… somehow…
“What you need, Kirael, is a boyfriend,” some of her female classmates had told her several days before. “But you’ll never get one if you’re always acting so depressed. I mean, who wants to date a girl who’s constantly moping about her pathetic life?” They would began laughing at her and mocking her.
“Boo hoo. My name is Kirael… “ they’d say. “And I want do die because my daddy loves me more than he should.”
“Or maybe it’s because he doesn’t love her at all” another one would say.
“Yeah! Kirael is daddy’s little whore!”
She had tried her best to contain her temper, letting them mock her. Because they wanted her to get mad. If she let them know how hurt she was by their words, then they would have won the game. As much as she tried to ignore them, it just ripped her apart inside. Daddy’s little whore… It was just cruel.
It was almost as if someone was planning out all of this. Like someone wanted this to happen to her. Her father had been such a good person before. They had so much fun together. She was daddy’s little girl, not whore. She still had pictures of them together, back when her blonde hair reached halfway down her back. Now, it was cut just past her shoulders and had black streaks in it. Her eyes were blue back then, and they had turned into a vibrant gray-green over the years. Her favorite picture with her father was one where she was standing on the edge of the trampoline “Santa Clause” had just brought her. She had her arms wrapped around her father’s neck to hug him, and they were both smiling. Anyone looking at the picture would ask who the little girl was, complimenting on how cute and beautiful she was. They would have never suspected that she would become what she was now. A gothic teen, her heart tattered and torn, her mind tainted with things she never wanted to know, underweight, suicidal, and scarred with emotional wounds.