Find the Other (part III)A Chapter by ♪Kinnixk ♫Taken in Trinity's POV. At the end of this chapter is a cliffhanger and it will be explained in the next chapter
I’m sprinting like a bird. I’m
sprinting through the woods in the sunlight. I don’t know how it was possible, I
who had to hide from the sun for decades on end. It was exhilarating. The trees
were spread out, were more even, and the arrangement allowed the sun’s rays to
blaze through and the lush greens drink up the gold. My skin does not burst in flames as I anticipated.
If anything it seemed to thrive on the light and warmth spread across my body
that I have not felt in so long. I stop sprinting. The woods ahead became
dense; three more steps and I would be back in the shadows, blending in with
the darkness that I craved so much. But now I don’t want to blend back in. I want
to shine; I want to lie down and sunbathe to my undead heart’s content. I look
back toward the east and then to the dark woods. Both pulled me easily in
opposite directions so I stood there in the middle of a few oaks wondering
whether to go forward or back. “Master!” I
glance to the woods. Damian steps out of the dark as if he had been watching
the entire time. He came as close as the shadows would allow him. His beautiful expression twisted in torment
and he beckons me hastily over to him, “Master, the sun! It’ll kill you!” I motion to him as well. “Come. It is not
so bad.” “Master!”
he screams now, “Wake up!” Huh. How odd. What was wrong with him? Didn’t
he see that he could also enjoy the sun as I was? That I had been wrong all
those years about the sun? “Wake
up! Wake up!” The world spun sickly and fades to a pale
gray until all I could hear was Damian’s absurd pleas. ….. “Master! Damn it, wake up!” someone shakes my arm roughly. I lash out at the unknown, growling and baring my canines in defense. My eyesight focuses on Damian’s worried face hovering near me. I blink and the dream pales; of course I couldn’t go out during daylight hours. What was wrong with me? “Trinity, there’s someone at the door.” “Who?” I sit up immediately. “I-I don’t know.” “Damian.” “Yeah?” “Is your throat burning?” “W-What?” “Did your throat burn when you smelled the intruder?” “A…little bit. Yes.” “Huh. I think I’ve met this person before.” I faintly remember the warm vanilla musk; I just can’t remember whose scent it is. Someone knocks on the door. Loudly. We both freeze; Damian in clear nervousness and I in trying to decipher who it was before I opened the door. It was someone I know and used to hang out with on occasion, that much I am sure. Another loud knock. The person coughs, “If you’re who I think you are, you’d better open this damn door before I destroy it.” That voice…I know that voice anywhere. Damian stands up and walks slowly to the door. I stay on the bed as he opens it slowly. The person busts in wearing a long dark purple cloak that covered their entire body from head to toe. She faces Damian in puzzlement and him in wonder. “Hey sister,” I said from my sitting position on the bed. “I thought you never wanted to see me again.” She turns around and the cloak falls off her shoulders. She looks different than I remember. Her hair had been cut shorter and she dyed it black. Other than the new heart piercing on her belly button she hasn’t changed. Her dark green eyes see me and she shrugs, “I didn’t have a choice, little sister. My head gave me a migraine until I arrived two minutes ago.” “What are you talking about?” I lie back down on the bed and watch her. “They are back, little sister.” She whispers. Dread filled my system and I become stone. “No,” I mouth. “No, that’s not possible.” “What? What’s going on? Who’s back?” Damian interrupts, his features twisted in anxiety. Both Abby and I answer in the same dead tone, “The Un-Named.” © 2012 ♪Kinnixk ♫Author's Note
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StatsAuthor♪Kinnixk ♫AboutHallo ihr alle! :D I have ideas in my head that I need to write down in paper or on Word because my ideas normally don't stay in my mind. Ideas don't like my mind because they don't like solitary con.. more..Writing
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