shades of scarlet

Those violet eyes lingered briefly for a moment as he took sight of something in particular. What was this? His airplane had returned? How strange! Immediately his digits grasped the paper, quickly pulling apart for his own curiosity was his true infatuation. 

The words that lit in those candescent hues caused the male to simply sit up straighter, flexing the paper in his hold. “Hmm.. hmm….” And those legs had swung in childish mirth as it always had; as he always would have. Velvet tiers that were hidden beneath the surface of those sublime features as he presented himself as nothing more than a mere child in such a situation nonetheless.

Quickly a pen was plucked from his own ear, the words etched into the paper once more as it was placed upon his thigh. Elegantly scripted – for what it was worth – for what he was worth. ‘But of course you see! Though these words are heard, now a conversation must happen for us to converse and such. Yet such a method has yet to lead to very much. Perhaps you and I, might find a way to communicate. Who are you, may I ask? Are you as lost as I?’

Alas, though, this was Earth and not the Homelands.

The female placed her arms on the table and groaned silently into the space they held. Boredom was such a wretched thing, as was exhaustion, and the two combined were no less than an almost lethal combination. She was half-wishing for a new set of assignments and half-wishing that the coffee she ordered would get to her table by now. When Red lifted her head up and sat up straight, properly as to not draw wandering eyes, she saw the plethora of people with steaming cups in her hand that were not hers. Caffeine was a bit of a lifeline these days, shall we admit.

However, her attention was distracted when she saw an object flying her way, seemingly past the apathetic visages of all the mundies in the café. It was quite strange that they paid no heed to the paper plane on its route to her table, but perhaps that was best; after all, what would've happened if the message was intercepted midway through? An end to a conversation! Such things wouldn't do, and so the girl opened the plane (the design was different but she paid almost no heed) to read the elegant script lying within its folds.

Ah, what a peculiar manner of speaking. For a moment, she felt a warmth of familiarity rise within her, for she knew that this speech was somehow known to her already... The memory was lost, as many others were in the grander scheme of her mind; right now, she was more intent on understanding the strange sentence structure and word choice as presented--for Red was not the brightest of the bunch.

As the other’s grip tightened around the adversary’s wrist, Kate took a deep breath to fight against the primal instinct to struggle to make the other girl let go of her or worst, use her unique ability to throw the other across the way. The red-haired knew that if the encounter happened months ago, that was exactly how she would had reacted at the time, now being able to recreate the events of a poltergeist haunting seemed a lot more like a curse than an actual ‘gift’.

Kate didn’t need any more reason to make the girl doubt about her intentions, her first priority was cross the portal and help those injured on the other side in order to redeem herself before her conscience and her own witchcraft, that with normal spells and potions that she hasn’t practiced for such a long time.  The petite woman wanted to be a witch again, not a murder… Murderess which made everything sounding even worst at her own ears, witchcraft was much more than anyone could ever tell, it was dangerous and attracted darkness, specially the witch’s darkness.

“I need to cross the portal, please, you have to let me go.” Katherine step down her pride to look at the other’s eyes and beg her once again, not even flinching at the sound of the metallic piece of the knife being withdrawn, if the witch didn’t managed to cross the portal she surely deserved any kind of fate the universe put the huntress to decide. “No, you need to let me go because I have enough of medical knowledge to be helpful to the people on the other side, I mean no harm to any of them.”

Dragging her teeth across her reddish bottom lip at being called a puppet, Kate only could feel shame, disgust and rage at herself for have being so stupid and so easily to toy with, she knew one day would come were she would pay for all of her offenses whatever it takes, it was one of the basic laws of the universe: what goes around always came around. However, she thought none could ever punish her better than herself.

To live to redeem herself while bearing the weight of so many deaths on her shoulders and forever chained to the consequences of her actions seemed the accurate punishment than any other kind of sentence to the atrocities she committed.

"No!" The huntress spat the foul word so hastily that one would think just the utterance of it was poison on her lips. Her intentions were justified, were they not? Aslan had specifically told them, though his words were soft with lack of conviction, to kill if that was what it came down to. He was a peaceful lion but not a foolish one--for he knew that the only thing to come from necessary war was nothing less than casualty. She was not the same as the horrible, pathetic woman (if she deserved to even be called that) in her grip, the very person who had destroyed the very metaphorical ground that Red had once stood on; someone who had murdered for the sake of selfish gain, to aid darkness in its conquest for the Homelands.

But, where was the red flare?

Where was the red flare in the enemy's aura that would tell her that all Red was hearing were lies?

Where was that affirmation? That justification?

Impossible. It was goddamned impossible. There was no way that such a ruthless monster could have a tremendous change of heart within a mere few months. Red did not dare weep outwardly, but there was something reminiscent of a coiled sob enveloped in the bars of her rib cage. More than anything, she wanted to take revenge for the family she lost, for the homes and the flowers and the trees that had been burnt down in their wake--for the survivors that had to live with those images carved into their memories. For those who suffered much like she did in the wake of war. However, she couldn't, not when she remembered the pleading eyes of a lion whose pride had been torn down by the Adversary's dominance.

"Death would make it fair," the brunette gritted her teeth, voice trembling yet alive with a resonating timbre, a renewed yet vindictive vigor. "After all, how can I be sure that you're not just a good actress? That you won't go back and wreck havoc on the Fables if I let you go? I don't know that."

Ruby’s words echoed and bounced off the corners of his mind, creating a repetitive and hushed sound that sent his thoughts into disarray. “…but it’s the only thing we have. Hope, I mean”. As much as the dragon blood wanted to believe the messenger’s words, there was something inside of him that firmly thought the contrary. Whenever the man’s eyes deeply bore into another’s, he did not see hope. Hope had lost its place within the hearts and spirits of those who were fortunate enough to escape the devastation and occupation of their motherland at the hands of the Adversary, leaving nothing but a sense of despair and disillusionment that crippled their resolve. In their eyes the warrior saw an ever growing void that ate away at their will to rise again and defy their oppressors; he saw broken spirits. No…this was not the working of hope.

“There is a difference between hoping and resigning to one’s own fate”. The man ran his fingers along the strong curvature of his jaw, wondering if their fate had been resigned to meeting and gathering in secrecy to discuss the state of mind and morale of their troops. As much as discerning the enemy’s next steps were vital to conjuring counter measures and effectively planning their movement, Garrick easily concluded that they would hardly succeed in achieving anything so long as the men and women fighting this war did not have purpose.

“Ruby, “ his tone had become solemn, underlining the magnitude of the situation at hand. “Have you gazed into the eyes of our brother and sister-in-arms and seen the slightest glimmer of hope? That is not hope you see, that is survival”. Perhaps it was a little difficult to understand when one used the concept of surviving as an opposite to hope or hoping. “No longer are we fighting or hoping, we are merely surviving – that is our greatest weakness at this point in time. If we intend to make a stand and battle those who have oppressed our people, I fear that we will be sending weary souls and broken spirits to the slaughter”. The German paused for a long moment, tongue momentarily darting out to wet his dried lips until he slowly straightened his posture, adopting a more dignified and strong stance. “Hope is what we need the most right now…We need to give them purpose again. Only then will we be able to retaliate and stand a fighting chance against our enemies”.

To have the Homelands restored to its former glory was all she ever wanted. To see Un Fabuliste renewed with the vigor of life threading through every form walking the ground.

"But if we're just surviving, then isn't it be easier to just be with the Adversary?" Her response was impulsive, brash, but she knew it rung true. There wasn't much going to anyone in the Good right now. If survival was someone's first instinct, wouldn't it have made sense to be on the side in power? After swallowing a lump in her throat, the huntress spoke again. "The fact that we're all still on this side now... Has to mean something, doesn't it?"

She couldn't say anymore, not even if she wanted to. She was barely surviving on the threaded thoughts lingering in her bare mind; they had already left her lips in a flurry, and she was left with nothing. Red felt reluctant to even look at her companion, instead facing the tapestry with feigned focus to distract her from being able to see the truth emanating from Siegfried. However, with the amount of experience she had in differentiating liars from honest people, she could even hear the resonating timbre of truth in the echoing deep voice that she couldn't even deny it to herself anymore. They were precariously hanging over a cliff they couldn't climb off of anymore.

Katherine Batts used to be a dreamer, one’s overall good and kind girl that used to nurse sick and injured small animals back to health, who helped lost strangers into the right direction, who held hope as her fuel that kept on pushing her forward to mend the broken pieces that was left behind after her mother’s death, she was the kind of girl that used to defend others who were unable to defend themselves.  The little witch was feisty, but not for a single second she stopped believing.

But as she grew up, everything seemed to get harder and harder to the point of hoping hiding itself in the very core of her empty heart. It was meaningless, nothing could ever bring her mother back, she came to that realization when there were no more tears to shed but the pain was still there. Betsy’s confession triggered her agony, she could never thought one day she would be able to hate a person with such a passion, the red-haired never thought that with only a look someone would be able to twist the gut that ordered her to kill.

Katherine never thought she would be able to wish for someone’s death, but John Bell was her only exception and when The Bell’s witch finally shed his blood, it was time to allow Betsy to go away, to recover from the trauma that came as a consequence to that experience, she should continue to keep her one and only best friend safe. Betsy went away without even looking back, without communication, without her.

For the longest while there were no more heavy sighs, no more irregularly heart beats or headaches. Kate couldn’t feel anything, anything at all, that was until she got tricked into join the Adversary; the witch never thought she would feel that kind of darkness, that she would want to cause pain into someone else to the point of destruction, but she felt her lips grinning upwards in such satisfaction and even pleasure at the feeling of taking someone’s life.

She was killing herself bit by bit… And dragging so many people with her that life almost felt like a funeral house, she had almost forgotten she was a witch by now.

It had been but one day that the girl was in this post. Rest was almost non-existent, but adrenaline kept her and her partner on the tips of their toes. There was no letting your guard down, not even for a second. The smell of decomposing bodies reminded her of the consequences of breaking this rule, and she could only shudder at the mere thought of her being in such a similar position. At the instance that Red was called out and shown the escaping enemy by gesture, she immediately swooped in to stretch an arm forward and pull that person back. Seeing the other's face made her mind reel and she almost let go, almost.

She knew her.

( A young woman on her knees. Ash falling between pale fingers. Cries of a lost child echoing. A sliver of red. )

"You..." Red trailed off, tongue grazing her dry lips as she continued to look at the woman before her. The huntress didn't know who, but recognized her from memories she tried to keep at bay. Here was the figure of one of her nightmares, the one she found standing victoriously on the burnt remains of everything Little Red had ever known. A woman who singlehandedly destroyed someone's world. A woman who singlehandedly destroyed her world.

"Why--" The female's voice trembled momentarily--such an unusual sound on confident lips. The more that the two stood there, the more searing anger and resentment built up inside of her being until it could no longer house it. When her partner came about, presence to her side, Red waved him off to go take care of other things--this Adversary was a foe that she had to face alone. If not for a fight or a kill, then for answers... Pathetic justifications. Anything that would make the demons leave, or fill the holes of the story.

She listened to the poor girl's begging tone and though she could see the truth in her words, the huntress could not make herself believe them. Someone who could help the enemy destroy the lives of innocent people could not have such a great change of heart in such a short period of time--after all, Un Fabuliste had burnt to the ground mere months ago. Red's eyes were blazen, narrowed while her teeth ground against each other and her arms forcefully tugged the Adversary woman back. Despite the truth, the nature of the young girl's abilities still had to be concealed.

"Why?" And here, Red slowly drew a knife from her belt, still clean from slaughter. "Why should I let you go? So you can crawl back to your puppet master? So you can escape to kill those who have managed to make it across?"

The weapon was trembling between her fingers.

( There were desperate pleas that went unheard. Burnt debris everywhere. The roar of a lion that shook the forests. The ground quivered underneath Red's knees. )