#ayden01;

There’d been little time to make her own plans in the aftermath of the fight, bodies left lying in the street and fresh portions of the city destroyed. There was a quiet certainty that it would only draw more, the rumbling of collapsing cement calling to monsters like a siren’s song. It left her following on the heels of the small group of survivors, though perhaps if she’d known they’d be taking refuge in a church she would’ve changed her mind. Even if her reasons are mostly petty, that lingering feeling like she should soften her feet on the carpet contrasting with a bitter urge to destroy every image of angels that might look down on them.

What she doesn’t expect is to see any kind of familiar face, most of her life rendered something distant, a dream she had before she’d been burned alive from the inside out. All that had been left was a quiet anger burning a hole in her chest, some urge for vengeance she doesn’t give voice to.

Still, it’s not an unwelcome sight to see Ayden Cross alive and well, that tug of familiarity and old kinship something oddly nostalgic now. Perhaps the only surprise should be that she hasn’t seen more hunters before this, but despite what’s been left in her head, she can only guess what the rest of the world looks like.

“Why am I not surprised to see you in the middle of this?”