The Fantasy

Pixie Frost · 03-21-2011, 02:34 AM

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Sorry for the lateness. Word Count: 732

Pixie had expected herself to be happier now that the blizzard was gone and the weather overall was getting warmer. She no longer was forced to pace around the rooms of the manor, her fear of the snowstorm always present. Her new red coat and black-and-gray scarf, both found in Halifax, proved to be in surprisingly good condition and kept her warm, even on the back of a galloping Magic, where her exposure to the elements was increased tenfold. Magic himself had stayed warm in the stable Ehno had built for him and the other horses; luckily he had had enough food and water in his stall during the storm. The pack itself had been doing good as well, with Artemis finally waking up and everyone who was involved in the bear fight recovering from their wounds.

But then there was Denali. Just thinking of his name brought another wave of anger. She wouldn’t have felt as bad if she didn’t know who his murderer was—hell, she wouldn’t have felt his bad if she hadn’t met her, hadn’t talked to her. There hadn’t been any reasoning behind Nuki doing it, either; from what little details Pixie had heard, it just seemed like the bitch had come across Denali and decided to kill him. She had nearly done the same with Parker as well. And to have the nerve to join the pack of the boy she had murdered…it was as though she lived to kill and destroy, with no reasoning behind it. And the worst part was that she was still out there, injured by alive. It sounded like something out of an old fairytale: a psychotic villain who would steal away children if they did not listen to their parents. It was a story Pixie never believed, even as a pup, and to have something remotely closely to it happen in real life was, in her own words, insane.

Among all these thoughts, there was the memory of Denali, too. He had had his first riding lesson with her before he disappeared. Pixie remembered how he wanted to be able to ride a horse and play guitar at the same time—something the young wolfess had never even thought about, let alone attempted. He seemed to focus on the future a lot, which made his death seem all the more tragic. Even then, Pixie could not bring herself to cry; having learned the news of his passing only a few days ago, she was still too shocked for the feeling to truly sink in. Maybe in a week or two, realization would kick in, but for now, she needed to escape from Crimson Dreams, where grief seemed to be the only feeling present, and if she wasn’t sharing that grief, there was no point in hanging around.

It was strange to feel more familiarity in Thornbury than she did in her own home, but such was the case today. She went around the north side of the town and dismounted—not bothering to tie Magic up, as he had been here enough times that she knew he wouldn’t wander off too far—and strode through on foot. She still didn’t have boots, or any sort of shoes, for that matter, but it wasn’t a pressing complaint. As usual, her guitar was slung on her back, and in one of the pockets of her crimson coat was a bottle of liquor. It was one of the bottles that she and Gotham had found in their exploration of the manor during the storm, and she figured it wouldn’t hurt to bring some along.

Then as she came around a corner and looked to one of the houses on the left, she stopped and had to blink for a moment to make sure she was seeing correctly. Was that Mars Russo, playing his white guitar? After realizing that it was definitely him, she broke into a grin. Even though she had only met Mars once, and hadn’t had much of a conversation with him, it was nice to see another familiar face that wasn’t filled with grief. “Hey, Mars!” she called to him and waved. She began to walk over to him, asking, “What’re you doing here?” As far as she knew, he was a member of Cour de Miracles. What was he doing here in Thornbury, acting as though he lived here?

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