#inquisition;

continued from here

The hours of daylight dwindled about like sand through a sieve and still there had been no sign of the Inquisitor. The Commander paced back and forth across the camp in a relentless march, living up to the lion of nickname. The rest of the camp was quiet and stress was palpable in the air. Cullen had been at his fretting for far too long but no one dared disturb him lest they be on the receiving end of his temper now shortened by worry.

Something was wrong. He could feel it in his gut and he would wait no longer.

_____

Even the entrance of the Chateau was imposing as he forced opened the grand door. The palatial structure was silent and dark as he entered, his first footfalls echoing against the marble. Perhaps he had erred and she was not here at all. Then a darker thought entered his mind as he closed his eyes. The form of woman in the dark corner of a dusty room, red hair glinting in the torchlight. Cullen shook his head as if he could shake away the thought and his eyes snapped open. 

He swore under his breath. Of course she had ignored his advice to let the soldiers scout the grounds out first. Of course she had ventured off alone. Their argument only a few hours ago now seemed ages away. But the anger was hollow and Cullen knew that it was a mask for the fear the was building within his chest. 

Movement in his peripheral vision caught his attention. On instinct his hand pulled the sword from its sheath and he spun to face the threat, every sense on high alert. The undead being lunged at him. Years of training kicked in faster than his thoughts could keep up as he stepped back. In a fluid motion, he swung the blade down and dispatched the wretched thing.

        “look, don’t take this the wrong way ... “ you know that’s like saying        “no offense, but...” it’s no tea, ALL SHADE, hunty. every instinct is         to laugh & delete this, but i have a real problem with you stating         that you’ve come to me before; there is a small handful of people         i have attempted to plot with before and have had things fall through.         here’s the deal, yeah, sometimes i’m terrible at plotting. i don’t have         much of a wishlist and i like to think of myself as flexible. if i like your         writing, odds are, i want to write with you but i might not be able to         pull an idea for our muses out of thin air. sorry it’s not one of my         strong points. i have said, both jokingly & seriously: i am a horrible         plotter. sometimes i’m tired and my brain doesn’t cooperate, there         are a multitude of reasons as to why you might get “ ??? “ from me.         and if plotting fell through, i’m SORRY?? no one has come back         to me when things don’t connect and i don’t want to be a pain in         anyone’s ass. and i’ve never said no to a plot idea. |:

angst. | accepting

“ –––– it would be easier to say i don’t. “

her lips purse. that haughty exterior she often flaunts cracks,leaving the nothingness beneath exposed, vulnerable. she’sbeen a demon for how many centuries? vulnerability is hardlythe first thing that comes to mind at the sight of her. but still.

the light disappears from her eyes and for a second she isnothing more than an image of a dead girl. she’s a shell ofa human with a monster inside and somedays she forgetsabout all of that; somedays she doesn’t think about HELLor all the things she has done, the things she did to get there in the first place. knots twist up in her belly –––– if only she hadn’t been afraid to die, none of this would havehappened in the first place. there’s a butterfly effect tothings. maybe he would have even had a happy life. if shejust wouldn’t have been afraid to die.

                              “ but i remember my witchcraft. things my                                mother taught me, that her mother taught                                her. all things return to the earth, and                                 every sort of hippie mentality you could                                 think of. we weren’t hippies, though. not                                in the 14th century. we were witches, we                                were HEALERS. –––– “

words stop, because she doesn’t want to admit it. she can’tconfess that she remembers everything that happened whenthe PLAGUE came. the things she had done; she wasn’t toounlike him in that sense. at first, she tried potions and charms.things handed down to her by her mother, to try and save herfamily. she PRAYED. first to GOD, then to MICHAEL. she losther father in the time she waited for a sign, for a cure. 

                              “ after that––– HELL takes everything.                                  strips you of your humanity. leaves                                  you with NOTHING. “