Ace_zza

“So you’re the one meant to kill me?” he asked, less than amused, his deep flat voice in constract to those dead eyes. It was filled with intensity, such darkness that threatened to devour the one that seared her veins. 
‘You never know if I’m just the only one,’ She sang, unwavering under his scorching gaze. He seemed to contemplate, perhaps the ways he could kill her or the ways he could torture her audacity.
She returned the gesture, as the chains kept her restrained. She would’ve killed him when she had the chance. And now, her prey made her his.
It was either the intensity of his gaze or the change in the current of the wind, raising the hairs on her body when he sauntered to her direction.
“That’s sad,” and now he stood closer, the smell of citrus and rain filled her nostrils tinting her face red. “Because you’re all I see-”
‘I’ll kill you before you lay a single finger on me,’ She threatened, determination boiled her blood.
“Too bad,” his voice rumbled slowly, lacking even the slightest warmth, as he closed the distance. She could feel his breath fan across her neck when he leaned in and her knees threatened to buckle. 
What was this?
He sniffed, and she stuttered a breath, feeling something tingle below her abdomen. She didn’t like this. But at the same time, she knew it was nothing but a lie.
His fangs grazed her skin and she shivered. It was unmerciful and torturous, like carving a will on an old crypt then nibbled her flesh and she gasped, heat scorching her insides. Oh heavens…
“Whoever created you did a terrible job,” The manner of which he commented was utterly devoid of emotion. “Because, two things,” he paused and she gritted, her position impossible to reach out and kill him. “I’m the one who created you,” he counted. “And two… you’re going to die.” His voice was calm, deliberate, and utterly devoid of mercy when he whispered, “Get ready to die, thief.”

Shackles Of The Past

It was an open hallway stretched before her, its stonewalls embellished with flickering torches casting dancing shadows on the walls. 


Paintings, ancient artifacts, and tapestries depicting battles and mythical creatures hung from the walls, and their patterns seemed to come alive in the torchlight. 


The silence such part of the castle weighed, lay intimidating yet loud denoting the resignation of duties for the day. 


Without delay, Medusa’s feet glided smoothly across the floor as the hem of her dress followed suit, acting in haste. 


She had only realized this path some time ago after her last encounter. There seemed to be an unnoticeable rear door at the far end of Infimary’s Quadrant, almost unrecognizable. She had spotted it at the time she searched and rumbled Mister Hrothgar’s desk. 


But as she thought, there’s no way such an Infirmary lacks a back route, could it? 


Chapter 57- Shadow and aura