But it’s so hard to know when to end the story sometimes. The people you write about are so real. You never want to subject them to a “the end.” But every story must stop. At least on the printed page.
I think the end comes when you’ve got nothing left to say. When the story goal is achieved, when the message has been told, when to continue would mean to drag it out and stretch it like a rubber band ’till it snaps, that’s when the end should come.
Two words. And they’re so painful.
But if the book is done well, while the end may seem painful, it will feel complete.
And that’s how it is with the Reset.
41 chapters. 1 epilogue.
And a bunch of feels.
I don’t know what it is about my guy characters, but people seem to love them. January, Cael, Kody, Elyya… I love my boys so much. ❤
So, while the Reset is waiting to be edited, I will probably rewrite the Desensitized trilogy and it will be better. Thanks to all the help I get from my betas and Mirriam, I think this second go around will be better. The Reset flowed. Desensitized did not. But it will this time.
And before I go, I’ll leave you with a few snippets. ^_^
“What?” I squeak. “What do you want?”
“I want compensation for the blood I lost because of you,” the tattooed man says simply. He rotates his neck on his shoulders and I hear a series of pops.
I stare at the floor and bite my lip. If he takes the blood he lost, I’ll need to perform another job before the end of the month. Three dead in thirty days because of me. I lean my head back against the wall.
“How much?” I whisper.
“Half a month’s supply.”
I look up at the man sharply. “You didn’t lose that much.”
“I’m accounting for the interest as well.”
One of my hands makeup. A thousand thoughts run through my head, none of them pleasant.
I hate to be in debt, but blood and lives should not be a means of paying a price.
rubs my face and I’m sure it smears the carefully placed
“I want it by the end of the month,” the man says.
“What’s your name?” I want to know.
“Bane,” he answers. “Bane Cormac.”
“Look,” he says, “I don’t hate you. You’re messed up, and you need help. You said you wanted a friend, and it looks like I’m the only available one at the moment, so I’m sticking around for a bit.”
I stop and turn around to stare at Jan.
“Besides,” he continues, “all my nice clothes are here. You’re not going to wear the suits and top hats, so I might as well make use of ‘em.”
“If I chose anything more than bread and cheese,” January says, “I’d have to cook. And that ain’t happening. Hope you don’t mind.”
“Do you really mean everything you say about yourself?” I ask. “Or do you say it to cover up a lack of self-confidence?”
Jan’s smile vanishes and his gaze drops to the floor.
“Ah, they say fake it till you make it. I’ve been faking it since I was a kid and I say things like that, but I don’t believe it. Sometimes I’m able to lie to myself, but at the end of the day, I’m still the same broken kid.”
I pull January into a hug again.
“I changed my name a few times,” he tells me.
“Really?” I figure it’s best to let him talk. “What to?”
“I can’t save you. Only you can save yourself. I can be here for you, but you have to make the decision. You have to want to be saved and until then, no one can do much to help you.”
I nod and, as I think about it, it makes so much sense.
“So basically, we limit the help we receive.”
January pats my cheek twice. “That about sums it up, darling. Now I want to practice my reading. You want to choose the book?”
Everyone within earshot turns to look at us.
“What’s wrong?” I ask him.
“Smoke!” he wheezes. “It’s killing me! And you!” He points a finger in the smoker’s direction.Top of Form
I cover my mouth to hide a smile as Jan narrows his eyes at the man whose face is a deep cherry red. The man drops the cigarette butt on the ground and crushes it with his heel. January straightens and nods once. He tugs on his coat and grabs my arm. We hurry down the street with our ice cream.
I giggle and look up at the young man who winks at me.
“Saving lives one hack at a time,” he says.
“I doubt if he’ll stop on your account,” I tell him. “Sorry to burst your bubble.”
“Well, I opened his eyes to the danger, so there.” He sticks his tongue out at me. I smile and lick my ice cream as it begins to drip over the side of the cone.
January had fallen over and was just lying on the ground like the world had ended.
I nudge him with my foot.
“No,” he replies.
I have the sudden urge to kick him. “Get up,” I repeat.
“Why not? Your clothes are getting ruined. Now stand up before someone tramples you.”
“Who’s going to trample me?” he moans as he stretches his hands into the air before letting drop to the pavement. “We’re in an ally way.”
I look around. “Oh. So we are. But that’s worse, see? Now your clothes are completely ruined. Look at all the rubbish strewn on the ground.”
January raises an eyebrow only a little so it’s barely noticeable. But then his face falls and he just stares up at the grey sky and sighs.
“Just let me die here,” he whispers. I crouch down beside him.
“What are you talking about?” I poke his side. He curls up in a large ball, hugging his side.
“Don’t touch me,” he cries. “Just leave me alone.”
“Why? What’s wrong? Are you hurt? Shall I chase those hooligans and make them apologize?”
“No,” he breathes, his eyes closed tight. “Just- Alias-” January looks up at me and I see something close to pain in his eyes. “My ice cream – it’s dead. So leave me to die with it. Please. Bury me by my park bench, if they’ll let you.”
I slap his face and laugh. “January- January Whatever-Your-Last-Name-Is, get up and come on. I can’t believe you! You’re such a drama queen.”
He hops to his feet, grabs my shoulders, and shoves me back against the wall of a building.
“Never – never – assume you know the pain of a man who has lost his ice cream,” he hisses. “And don’t call me a drama queen. If anything, I’d be a drama king.”
I’m babysitting my four year old cousin and not feeling well. Also, I’m tired.
What better time to write a blog post, right?
Update #1: THE HOBBIT IS SO AMAZING I CAN’T EVEN! NO SPOILERS, JUST ASDFGHJKL!!!!!!!!! It didn’t follow the book and I was a bit worried that Peter Jackson would totally butcher it, BUT I SHOULD HAVE KNOWN BETTER. Okay, the first one didn’t set high standards, so I wasn’t expecting much, but THE DESOLATION OF SMAUG. *spazzes*
My 11 year old cousin thought Thranduil was a girl until he spoke. O__________________________o I thought he was an interesting character. I hope to see more of him and the other elves in the third and final installment of The Hobbit. 🙂
My 12 year old sister liked Kili best. Hm, wonder why…
Update #2: There was a Christmas dinner and show at my church Saturday night and it was amazing! They all did such a wonderful job. ^_^ It wasn’t the typical Christmas play either. They went all out, had “commercials” which advertised used carts “cheap as dirt” because they were so dirty and other things. 😛
Update #3: My grandma is an amazing lady. Just throwing that out there. She had me, my sister, and cousin sleep over, then took us to see The Hobbit: The Desolation of Smaug, which preceded a lovely lunch at the Pita Pit.
Update #4: Yesterday, I was babysitting the four year old, as previously mentioned. Two years ago, I changed my first diaper. (It wasn’t mine, I promise. I’ve long since stopped using those things. It was her diaper. Just felt the need to clarify that.) Since then, I have never changed another diaper and have never felt the urge to. I couldn’t get within three feet of the kid without gagging and I’m not exaggerating. We had no wipes, Mom was taking a nap, and I was the only one mature (and brave) enough to handle the situation.
My cousin laughed at me and so did my sister as they ran back and forth from the kitchen with paper towels. Lovely family.
After nearly choking on the putrid scent and getting human child feces on my hands, I was done. No more butt-wiping for me.
And two years later, that same girl is sitting on the couch, watching Dora the Explorer (and I didn’t remember how annoying it was) and coloring, when she looks up and says to me, “Rana, can you get me some different underpants?”
I was sitting there, like, “x_x Why (dare I ask)?”
“I pooped my pants.”
I’m just sitting here going:
She gets in the bathroom and says, “I’m joking.” I stand there, staring at her until she finally gets it. “That’s not funny, right?”
Yeah, I’m a Sherlock fan, in case you haven’t noticed. 😛 I said, “Not dead” in theaters when we were watching DoS. Because I’m that kind of a person. 😛
Update #5: I’m loving The Reset. January… just… I fangirl over him. ^_^ A big thanks to Lisa for fangirling with me. 😛 And to Mirriam for getting excited about his name and face with me. XD
This boy is so lovable. ❤
Here’s what he looks like:
Isn’t he lovely? ^_^
Anyway, I’m having so much fun writing him.
Onto the snippets! 😀 I’m doing a lot ’cause I have 13 chapters already and I love this so much. XD I was trying to choose only my favorite parts, but the whole book is my favorite part, so there’s a bunch of snippets. 😛
“I want to be done,” I whisper, dropping back into my chair as I stare at the picture of a handsome gentleman with blond hair and blue eyes.
“I apologize, Miss Holden, but that is no longer an option for you,” Fanon reminds me. He doesn’t seem sorry at all. He’s just like Fëar. Emotionless. Dehumanized.
“As if it ever was,” I retort.
“It was,” Fanon tells me, glancing up from a file on his desk. “Before you joined us. Now if you don’t mind, I have work to do.”
“You’re gonna regret that in the mornin’,” Silas warns me, interrupting my thoughts and bringing me back to the present.
“Then I’ll just sleep ‘till noon.”
“I don’t look any different than when you saw me yesterday morning.”
“Not to the untrained eye, anyway,” says Fëar. “But I can tell, Alias, m’darlin’. I can always tell. I’ve had since the beginnin’ of time to practice reading people and I’ve grown quite good at it.”
I sigh. “Stop reading me. It’s rude.”
He shrugs. “As you wish.”
“Good movie, that. You and your date should watch it sometime.”
“He’s not my date. I don’t date my targets,” I groan as I pour myself a mug of coffee and sit down at the table.
A girl on the stool next to mine elbows me with a sly grin on her face.
“Isn’t he a dream?” she asks, nodding in Silas’s direction.
I smile back at her and nod. “A perfect nightmare.”
“I don’t want to kill anymore.” I grind the words out through my back molars.
Fanon leans in and clasps his hands on the desk as he speaks. “You don’t have a choice.”
“What can I do to get out?”
“No, there is way, isn’t there?”
“Well, I could release you from your bond, but I don’t feel much like doing that. Or you could find someone else to take your place. But then you’d still be bound for a year so there would be double the blood on your hands. And there would be no way to redeem yourself after you died, an occurrence which would take place immediately once the year was up.”
My cell phone buzzes on the table.
I flip it open.
“YOU HAVE 1 TEXT MESSAGE.”
I open it and read the message.
“Hey, srry ill be a few mins l8. –SV”
That makes me want to puke. Really?
You seemed like such a wonderful person until I read that text message, Silas.
“Don’t worry about it,” I type with my thumbs before pressing the send button. A yawn stretches my mouth.
“A yawn is a silent scream for coffee, or so I hear,” the barista calls to me. “Can I get you anything?”
I smile at the young lady. “Sure. What kinds do you have?”
She begins rattling off a long list consisting of espresso, double espresso, cappuccino, Americano, café latte, extra shot, and flavored coffees. I inquire as to what options the latter might include.
“We have hazelnut, caramel, vanilla, cinnamon, gingerbread, honeycomb, and mint,” she replies cheerfully.
I run through the list in my head a couple of times before looking back at the brunette.
“What’s your favorite?” I ask her. I’m horrible at making decisions.
“Well, I’m a vanilla person, so I’d go for that. But the caramel is good too.”
“Can I do both?” I ask.
She laughs. “I can try!”
With that, she sets to making my caranilla coffee and returns with a steaming mug of it. I take a deep breath and let it out in a contented sigh.
“It’s rude to break into people’s houses, Fanon,” I shout.
“I didn’t break in,” he replies, appearing in the middle of the living room.
I roll my eyes. “You’re in here uninvited. It’s the same thing.”
“No, it’s not. Breaking in implies that I forced myself into your house, which I did not.”
“Alias, darling,” he says slowly, “have you read about the old legends?”
Where is he going with this? I wonder.
“Which ones?” I ask instead.
“On the elves,” he replies without looking at me.
“No,” I tell him. “I’ve read quite of a bit of Tolkien though, if that’s what you’re referring to.”
Fanon chuckles. It’s a deep, throaty chuckle that sends shivers up my spine. He pulls a book off the shelf. Its cerulean cover sports golden letters that form to create the title.
The Truth in the Legends
Fanon begins to read a passage located somewhere in the middle of the book.
“In the old legends, Elves were not the honorable creatures Tolkien led people to believe in. They were powerful, dangerous, and beautiful supernatural beings who are more than likely to harm humans than help them.”
Fanon stops and I stare at him, my jaw hanging open. The fact that he read “are more likely” rather than “would be more likely” bothers me. The way the text is written implies that these creatures are real.
The man continues.
“The word ‘elves’ comes from a Germanic term that translates to ‘nightmare.’
“Now, dear Alias, in light of this new discovery, please keep in mind that if you disappoint me, I will hurt you. The Bank isn’t a game. It’s a business. I would appreciate it if you would treat it as such. From now on, stop playing with your targets and just perform the job. It will be easier on you.”
I tear my jacket off and go through my arsenal which is comprised of five blades, not counting the one lying somewhere downstairs in a puddle of blood.
The spear-point will be for Silas and the drop-point for Mirai. I’ll try to do them at the same time to avoid causing one of them the agony of watching their only loved one die.
I’ll spare them the agony I’ve dealt with these past two centuries.
I hold onto Alex tight, knowing he’ll be gone at any moment. “Elizabeth Barton is dead,” I tell him.
“You could have been Mrs. Elizabeth Wilkins.”
“No, I couldn’t have been,” I sigh. “I would never have left you to this life. I would rather die every day and live in hell so you could be saved.”
Fëar crosses his legs and hovers in the air, his elbows on his knees, his chin in his hand.
“Well, we hate humans, basically. So anyway we can hurt them, we will. Immortality is one of those ways. Killing the conscience is another. Though that doesn’t matter much until the soul leaves the body.”
I look up at the navy blue drapes that ensure no sunlight gets in the house. The thick material does its job well.
“So you live to see us hurt?” I ask, yawning. “That seems like a really shallow motive.”
“Oh, there’s more,” Fëar says, flashing me a wicked grin. “You humans don’t know it, but we control the earth.”
I blink. “What?”
“Oh, yeah. President of the United States? He’s the same as you. Of course, we do make exceptions for leaders. They have to die so no one will start to wonder.
“The assassins are all one of us. Most of them fake their deaths, some of them we kill if we think they’ll start telling the world about the Bank.”
“What other leaders do you own?” I ask.
“Well, the politicians are easy to win over. We’ve got some kings and queens.”
“Don’t they have to kill?”
“Yeah. But they do it differently.”
“How so?” I lean forward, curious.
He grins, revealing a set of perfect, white teeth. I notice his bicuspids are sharp. Sharper than any normal person’s. Almost vampirish.
“Do you drink blood?” I ask suddenly, forgetting my previous question.
He sits back, the grin fading. “Absolutely not,” he answers. “No.”
“Are you in trouble?”
I nod. “Been in it for two hundred years and I guess it’s not stopping today.”
“Wait, what? Have you been at the bottle?” Silas raises an eyebrow.
I laugh bitterly. “I wish that was as far as my troubles went, but no. You have to understand that I don’t like this.”
“You don’t like what? Just get to the point!” Silas watches me so closely as if he’s trying to pinpoint the problem somewhere on my face.
“Oh, how much longer must I sing this song?” I mutter under my breath. “It’s an old tune and was never catchy in the first place.”
“Hey, God,” I mutter. “Um, You know what I’ve done. You know I don’t want to do it but have no other choice. This is kind of like a slave contract sort of thing, I guess. I don’t know what to do. I’m lost, okay?
“Like that goat or whatever You talked about finding even when You had the ninety nine all safe and stuff. I’d like to be found again so if You could pick up that lost people detector or whatever You use to find us, I’d appreciate it.
“I’m willing to give this whole faith thing another go if You’ll just get me out of the Bank.”
“Why do you hate me?”
“I don’t hate you,” Fëar says. “My feelings toward you are worse than that.”
I had been heading toward the couch, but stop and cast a confused look over my shoulder. “What’s worse than hate?”
“What do you mean?” I curl up on the couch and watch his face.
“Hate simply means I wish ill for you, but use is much worse than that. It’s wanting to hurt you for my personal gain. You might enjoy it for a while, but I’ll only put up with you until your entertainment purposes surpass your usefulness.”
“Sometimes, I think you’re my friend,” I whisper. “But then I have to remind myself that I have no friends and even if I did, you couldn’t be one of them.”
Fëar chuckles. “Smart girl. Yes, you are smart, m’darlin’ but you’re stupid at the same time.”
I sigh. “Oh, go away.”
His chuckle echoes throughout Stone Cross Manor even after he disappears.
NOW FOR SOME SCENES WITH JANUARY BECAUSE I LOVE HIM SO MUCH.
In the park, a man with vertically striped pants (almost like the kind Fanon wears, but in thinner stripes), a coat, some arm bangles, and a black cowboy hat covering half of his face. He appears to be sleeping so I brush past, but his hand reaches out and grabs my wrist.
“Ay,” he says, glancing up at me from his one visible eye. He doesn’t uncross his legs which stretch out on the park bench.
“Let my wrist go, please,” I say, in too much of a nice mood to get angry.
“No, not yet,” he says with a distinct American accent, and sits up. He fixes his cowboy hat and straightens his belt which is old and worn by the looks of it.
“Can I help you?” I ask. I stand far enough away to be able to move if he stands to get closer.
A blue printed scarf peeks out from beneath his dirty white shirt which is covered by a denim jacket. To top it all off, he wears a threadbare wool coat. It all adds up to make an interesting statement to say the least.
His face is one of the most beautiful I’ve ever seen. It’s dirty, but he has angular features, a straight nose, full pink lips, and it’s all framed by long strands of black hair that escaped his loose ponytail.
“What might I be able to help you with?” I ask when he doesn’t continue.
“Don’t know yet,” he says, eyeing me.
“I beg your pardon. I don’t understand.”
He flashes me a white, but slightly crooked smile that I find just darling. A few seconds later, I find myself smiling back at him.
“Would you care to sit with me for a while?” he asks me.
I know I shouldn’t, but I’ve got nothing to lose, so I sit beside the young American man and he releases my wrist.
“I thought you were sleeping,” I tell him.
He laughs. It’s a pleasant sound. I haven’t heard a genuine laugh from an adult in such a long time. If Silas ever laughed, it was because of some hidden nervousness or insecurity. Not like this man’s. It’s clear, loud, and real.
“Most people do,” he tells me with a wink.
I smile and nod, unsure of what else to do.
“Do you need money?” I ask.
He lets another laugh ring in the foggy air. “Oh, please,” he chuckles. When he doesn’t explain the humor in my question, I prompt him for an answer. He looks me in the eye, still grinning. “I don’t need money!”
I blink. “Forgive me for being so frank, but how do you not need money? You’ll freeze before the winter sets in if that’s the only outfit you’ve got.” I gesture toward his thin jacket.
The strange man continues grinning as he leans backward. His right arm rests on the back of the bench. He rolls his first two fingers in a circular motion to prompt me to go on.
“And it baffles me that you would sleep out here on a park bench in the cold if you have a flat or somewhere to live.”
Another chuckle escapes his lips. For some reason, it goads me on.
“No offense, but you’re quite filthy too,” I point out. “If you had enough money to live like a decent person, you would be much cleaner.”
He just keeps smiling. But the light in his brilliant blue eyes tells me he’s laughing at me.
“Plus, you-” I stop and shake my head as he begins to laugh again. “What’s so amusing?” I want to know.
“You put so much faith in something so unimportant,” he explains.
“I don’t understand. Yes, money isn’t the most important object, but without it, life is a lot more difficult.”
The man leans closer to me and whispers, “That’s what they want you to believe.”
I lean backwards and place a hand on his chest to keep him out of my personal space.
“What’s your name?” I ask. He leans back.
“Jan,” he answers. “It’s short for January.”
I wrinkle my nose. “January? Is that your real name?”
He shrugs. “I was born in January. That’s all I know about myself.”
“What do you mean?”
“I was put in the orphanage right after I was born, so I don’t know anything else. They never named me so I named myself.”
“Who never named you?”
Jan sighs and taps the side of my head. “Not very bright, are ya? No one named me! Not my parents, and no one in the orphanage.”
“Oh,” I say lamely.
“What’s your name, beautiful?” Jan smiles at me. He holds my gaze and doesn’t look away, even when he’s speaking. It’s a bit unnerving.
“Alias,” I answer.
“Is that your real name?” he asks, mimicking the tone in my voice when I had asked him that question.
“Wouldn’t you like to know?” I respond, with a grin.
“Yes,” he says. “Yes, I would very much like to know.”
“Why?” I stop fingering the folds in my scarf. I hadn’t realized I was doing it until now.
“Because I’m a creeper.” Jan rolls his eyes. “I’m just curious, is all! No need to get so defensive.”
I smile at him and pat his cheek. “Cute.”
I laugh. “No one acts the way you do. It’s cute.”
He shakes his head. “I’m not cute.”
“Then what are you?”
“I’m a loner who happens to be very attractive.”
I smile at Jan and he smiles back. “I’m willing to bet self-confidence is your best quality,” I say.
January shakes his head. “Nope. Humility is my best quality. Couldn’t you tell?”
“I think the longer you live, the shorter your Christmas list gets because you begin to realize that the things you want, you simply can’t find in a shop.” He shrugs and puffs out his cheeks.
“You hungry?” I ask him. “Can I take you out for supper?”
He raises an eyebrow. “Did you just ask me out on a date?”
I shake my head. “No. I asked you if you wanted some free food.”
He spreads his hands out. “Hey, I’ve never not accepted a free meal. But what’s the catch?”
“No catch. Just food.”
“Unless, of course, we eat fish. In which case, there must be a catch for there to be food.”
I smile at him. “All right, what do you feel like eating.”
“People,” he mutters. A large man shuffles past the back of his chair and knocks the back of his head with his elbow.
I lean forward. “I’m not sure what you’re used to eating, Jan, but human beings are not on the menu.”
He laughs. “No! I was just-” He gestures to the man. “I was commenting on people’s manners, is all. Or rather, just people in general.”
I smile. “What? You don’t have friends?”
“Nope. It’s just I, myself, and me against the whole world.”
“Then maybe it’ll just be us against the whole world.”
I look up at Jan. “You’re sweet, you know that?”
He grins and sticks his tongue in his cheek. “Yeah, I think so.”
“What do you want?” I moan.
“Some fun,” he hisses.
“Find it somewhere else. I’m not a Happy Meal.”
A low chuckle sounds in the back of the elf’s throat.
“I don’t need you to be happy,” Fëar clarifies. “I just need the meal. I’ll find the pleasure in it somewhere.”
“I’m not on any menu,” I snap. “Go away.”
He steps toward me and crouches before the bed. His hand stretches out and tucks a loose strand of my dark hair behind my ear. I stare into his pale blue eyes, rimmed with red.
“You still haven’t gotten me the blood I wanted,” he whispers.
“I just killed two innocent people,” I tell Fëar, wanting so much to be able to cry. “I can’t.”
The elf’s hand is on my throat in less than a second. His strangely beautiful face is just centimeters away from my own.
“We made a deal,” he growls. “You’re not backing out, love. I want blood in return for the blood I transferred to your account last time you decided you didn’t want to kill. And, beautiful, if you don’t, just know that I can make your life more miserable than you ever thought imaginable.”
Okay, I don’t know why it turned out so small, but this is my lovely cast. ^_^
Starting at the top left corner and going clockwise, we have Fëar, Fëar again, Stonecross Manor, Alias, Alias again, Silas Vealy, Fanon, Fanon again, some weird blood-smoke thing, the Stalker who I have yet to name, January, and January again.
I hope you enjoyed that horribly long post. Every time, I plan on writing something short and sweet, but then I get going and, well, this is the result. 😛
Like, fo’ real. My last post got shared 141 times on Pinterest. O_O
I’m shocked. And I’m happy. ^_^ Thank you so much, guys! I love you! xD
I asked my mum last night if I could respond to comments, and she said no. *sigh* But I promise you guys that when I can, I will. And I will enjoy it. It bothers me that I can’t get to know you. *sniffle* But please don’t let our lack of communication stop you from commenting. I really do read all your comments and I enjoy seeing what you have to say. *hugs*
And now, I’d like to present to you my newest plot bunny! *drumroll* The Reset!
I’m horrible with blurbs, and I know that’s horrible because I’m a writer and writers are supposed to be good with words. But I’m still learning and condensing a whole novel into only a couple hundred words is painful. There’s so much more to it than just what’s in the summary.
But anywho, I’ll try to write a blurb. 😛
Alias Holden lives in Stone Cross Manor located in Ulverson, Cumbria, UK. To save her fiance from a life of sin and agony, she takes his place in the Bank which is run by elves, who, contrary to popular belief, are not the noble creatures Tolkien portrayed them to be. According to ancient legend, they are powerful and supernatural beings who are more likely to harm humans than aid them. The word “Elves” comes from an old Germanic term for “nightmare.”
Alias has not been human for two hundred years, kept alive by the strange powers of the elves. She is made to kill periodically in order to continue living without the physical pain she normally would feel at two hundred and twenty four years old. The blood from her target would be transported to her account, but she wants out.
Unfortunately, the Bank won’t release her. They tell her they own her soul, but she doesn’t believe it. Alias has tried simply disobeying orders, but Fanon (the head of the Bank in the UK) sent shadows, voices, and physical pain to torture her until she completed the job. Alias is determined to get out, but has no idea how…
Okay, so there’s more than that, but like I said, I’m horrible condensing something huge into only a couple hundred words. 😛
And now for a snippet! Okay, it’s actually chapter 1, so a bit more than a snippet. 😀
The mirror shows no reflection as I stare – no – glare at the glass. There hasn’t been a reflection for two hundred years yet every day, I go back in the hope of seeing something. Anything. But every day, I wake up only to greet disappointment at the door.
It’s been my only company for these past two centuries.
They say I need to change, to open up to people, to make friends. But change hurts, and I’d have to cut myself open to make friends. Friends who die as soon as I begin to care.
It’s a curse.
A bloody curse.
I tear my gaze away from the mirror and storm downstairs to find Fëar sitting in my dining room, a steaming cup of tea in his pale hands. His legs are elevated to show off his muddy boots resting on my beautiful cherry oak table. The familiar black cat rests in his lap.
“What do you want?” I snap, not in the mood for any sort of conversation.
“I came to see if you’ve discovered anything,” he yawns.
“I haven’t. Now go away.”
“My dear girl, you didn’t even look. I’d bet my cat on it.”
The feline looks up at me with that strange golden eye. The other one is hidden by an eye patch.
“What do you want?” I sigh, pouring myself a cup of coffee.
“I want his blood.”
When I turn around, Fëar is standing right in front of me. His voice sounds like the red liquid he desires oozing out of a wound.
“Then take it,” I snap. “I don’t want it.”
“The last time you said that, Alias, you ended up making a bloody mess. Quite literally.”
“I don’t want to do it anymore. I told you that already.”
“You have no choice,” he hisses as one of his slender hands wraps around my arm. I cry out in pain as his fingers constrict the blood flow. “If you wanted to save him, you have to make some sacrifices.”
“Haven’t I made enough?” I scream more out of frustration than pain. “I haven’t seen my reflection for a very long time, Fëar.”
“You’re hollow inside.”
“I haven’t been human for two hundred years,” I snarl.
“I told you the consequences before you agreed to suffer them,” the tall, pale man growls. His fierce, glassy blue eyes are bloodshot and rimmed with red eyelids. “You know how to reverse it. Do it if you want it so much.”
“But who’s to say the next time I put this gun to my head it won’t go off?” I snap. “It’s too risky.”
“Your choice,” Fëar shrugs. He releases my arm and steps back. Something like an invisible sheet wraps around him and a second later, he reappears in the chair at the table, his feet propped up on the wood once again.
The one-eyed black cat rubs against my leg. I watch it with distaste.
“You told me once,” I tell Fëar, “the less you care, the happier you’ll be.”
“How’s it working out for you?” He sips his tea.
“Then you’re doing it wrong.”
“I don’t want to kill my conscience,” I tell him. “I don’t want to lose the one part of me that’s still human.”
“Alias, you’re confused!” Fëar laughs. “You’re living these lives all wrong!”
“No,” I say. “I’m not living lives. I’m taking them. And I’m not interested in it anymore.”
“The only way to get out, is to take many more. The only way to stay in, is to take only a few.”
“And I can’t die.”
“Tough, isn’t it?” Fëar looks sympathetic for a moment, but I know he can’t really be feeling that way. He’s incapable of feeling whatsoever. “You’re still so human. It’s a tough phase. You’ll get over it one day.”
“How do you ‘get over’ having to kill every person you care about just to keep from losing your soul? It sounds like that’s more of a way to lose it.”
“It will make sense in time, my darling.” Fëar takes one last sip of his tea. “Just wait.”
“What? Like two hundred years isn’t enough?” I scream at him. His lack of emotion rubs me the wrong way.
“You’re still young!” he soothes, standing up and coming to me. His arms wrap around my smaller body. I breathe in the distinct scent of lavender and lemongrass. Fëar always smells like that. Actually, all the Bankers smell the same. It’s a soothing scent.
“Alias,” I hear Fëar whisper, “you’re doing the right thing.”
A second later, the man, his dark blue scarf, black top coat, and top hat, as well as the black cat are gone. They disappeared, leaving me to my own devices.
And that scares me just a little bit.
Hope you enjoyed that! 🙂
Tomorrow, we’re celebrating my little sister’s birthday, so I’m making a Reese’s Peanut Butter cake. Be jealous.