#cauchcmar

                  “–It is what I am made for.”

        ❝  that  seems  like  a  very  peculiar  thing  to  be  made  for,  don’t  you  think?  though...  I  suppose  you  are  very  good  at  it.  ❞  oddly  enough,  that  idea  did  not  scare  the  scot  all too  much  --  though  perhaps  it  should  have.  had  she  not  witnessed  what  the  woman  did  with  her  own  hands;  seen  exactly  what  it  is  that  she  was  capable  of?  

        and  yet  the  red  head  was  naught  but  curious  at  the  sight  before  her.  never  had  she  seen  someone  built  as  such;  augmented  as  such.  were  it  not  for  the  voice,  she  would  have  thought  the  being  to  be  an  omnic.  the  thought  unsettled  her  greatly;  what  happened  to  her?

        ❝  and  what  were  you  made  to  do  beforehand?  ❞

        for  a  moment  she  wondered  if  she’d  lost  her  in  transit;  taken  a  wrong  turn  or  even  incorrectly  guessed  that  she  was  following  the  shadow  of  the  Widow  down  the  darkened  alleys  she  often  clung  to,  if  she  didn’t  instead  decide  on  travelling  via  rooftop.  she’d  gotten  rather  good  at  finding  her  and  often  did  wonder  if  it  was  intentional  at  this  point;  whether  a  part  of  her  wanted  to  be  found.  it  wouldn’t  surprise  her  --  she  always  was  in  control,  whether  Emily  cared  to  admit  to  that  or  not.

        how  she’d  disappeared  from  sight  in  the  blink  of  an  eye  only  continued  to  confirm  her  thoughts.  thoughts  that  she  quickly  lost  herself  in  as  she  traversed  the  back  alleys  of  the  row;  thoughts  that  caused  her  not  to  realise  that  she  was  being  watched  by  the  very  being  she  was  looking  for.  perhaps  she  should  have  been  more  afraid  than  she  was  when  the  Widow  finally  made  herself  known  to  her.  cornered,  she  was;  alone  and  in  the  cover  of  darkness,  away  from  wandering  eyes.

        yet  her  heart  was  not  beating  so  fast  out  of  fear,  but  rather  something  that  even  she  did  not  quite  understand.  for  every  step  she  took  back,  the  Widow  took  a  step  forward.  pinned,  at  that  point;  no  method  of  escape,  and  yet  she  did  not  wish  for  a  route.  the  intake  of  breath  was  sharp  as  her  chin  was  tilted  upward;  forced  to  stare  into  intimidating  eyes,  yet  she  stood  strong  still.  words  threatened  to  spill  from  her  mouth  and  yet  nothing  came,  her  heart  just  beat  faster  still.

        call  it  a  gamble  that  she  meddled  with  this  woman’s  life  for  as  long  as  she  had,  but  she  never  doubted  in  the  woman’s  word;  never  once  considered  that   she  would  be  hurt,  not  even  now.  her  reactions  made  no  sense,  right  until  lips  pressed  to  her  own  and  she  realised  just  what  it  was  that  she  was  feeling.  

        only  then  did  she  feel  scared,  knowing  that  she  cared  for  this  woman  more  than  she  even  knew.  this  woman  who,  for  all  intents  and  purposes,  was  a  killer;  had  made  it  more  than  clear  that  she  was  such,  and  that  she  didn’t  wish  for  change.  how  someone  such  as  her  could  warrant  such  emotions  was  indeed  a  rather  scary  concept,  and  yet  the  idea  faded  away  as  quickly  as  it  had  come.  

pats the tiddy.