M. Fragile
#1
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Hope this is alright for you. <3


Night had begun to fall. The sky was slowly draining of colour, the air pale and bloodless, as the withering circle of the sun began to sink behind the trees. Somewhere in the distance a lonely eaglet cried out for its mother. It was the only sound. The stillness that had overcome the woods was now as deep as the blackness beginning to devour it piece by piece.


But there was life in the wood, a single pair of emerald eyes glittered furiously in the shadows. There was a cruel loneliness in those strange malachite orbs, and as night came ever closer, they became even more aware of the shadowing world around them. They belonged to a raven-furred female. She seemed disturbed, talking to herself whilst restlessly squatting at the base of a large oak. She had started building a small fire but had not yet lit it, having turned to her vices to perhaps cure that shimmering desolation in her eyes.


A couple of empty bottles lay by her feet, the bittersweet odour of whiskey floating silently through the still air. It was apparent that even though she had awareness of her surroundings she wasn’t particularly all there mentally. She giggled to herself, muttered words under her breath, stared longingly at the blade of a dagger clasped tightly in her palm. There were tiny droplets of blood dribbling onto the ground, soaking into the earth; it would seem she had cut her hand. Whether it was accidental or not, well that was another story.


Sighing heavily, the ebony lady pulled out a lighter from a small leather pouch that was placed neatly by her side. This contrasted greatly with her currently messy hair, strands covering her face and curling at the ends. It didn’t cover the scar, however. The long vertical scar that covered her left eye and wrinkled every time her face switched expression. Right now she seemed to wear a strangely amused smile, as though contemplating something dangerous, or maybe just something very stupid.


After a few attempts, she managed to get her lighter to burst into life. It gave off a soft glow, lighting up her face and chest, making shadows dance and her face appear almost angelic to the touch. Putting it to the myriad of objects she had found to burn, they slowly began to hiss, smoke wafting up her nostrils, and tiny flecks of ash floating into the night. It wasn’t long until it grew, now a hypnotising torch in the oncoming midnight.


Grinning to herself, filled with some kind of twisted pride, the obsidian female was now illuminated by the small fire in front of her. The fire seemed to make silent poetry as it flickered and crackled now and then. It revealed her in all her beauty, but it showed her flaws as well. Not only did it bring out the scar on her face, it brought out the strange scarred symbol on her shoulder as well. A gift from a male she had bumped into many, many months ago who had not taken her relationship with Snake well. He had left it there to remind her that Snake would never really be hers, and unfortunately, he had been right.


Snake had left without a word, disappeared without a trace. When Lucia had discovered this, she had gone mad with heartache. The confusion had eaten away at her soul, tore out her heart and discarded it into some black abyss never to be seen again. It was this that had led to the ebony woman leaving Nova Scotia; this which had led to her vanishing into the night much like her prince charming had done weeks before. It wasn’t until she had come across a travelling gypsy who had given her news of the changes in Nova Scotia that she had returned, curious and withdrawn. She had nothing, nobody, but at least here she knew her way around.


Lucia had built herself a little haven in the woods now, sleeping under the trees and eating whatever she could find. Occasionally she managed to catch the odd small rodent, but with her heart so heavy, she found little motivation to hunt for anything bigger. It was often just a diet of berries and mushrooms, and that seemed to suit the ebony female fine.


Lost in thought, Lucia found in difficult to get the image of the coyote traitor out of her mind. His face flashed repeatedly in front of her eyes, his soft olive coals burned into her skull and the memory of his touch set her skull on fire. This had been happening for some time now. It prevented her sleeping, and when she did it gave her nightmares. Though it didn’t seem to matter now, he haunted her in daylight, he haunted her at night. She couldn’t escape. Only alcohol and drugs seemed to do the trick, so it was not surprising that the sable-furred woman was on a mission to get back into the realms of drunken stupor and narcotized haze. She had managed two bottles so far and was contemplating a third, but it seemed that something else had come into her mind, as her attention seemed to slip over the dagger again, the blade glistening in the firelight.


Lifting it from her lap, her hand seemingly fused to the handle, an eerie cackle seemed to escape her lips. Something seemed to sliver across her face, a dark cloud of psychosis. She was some kind of epitome, a sea of intranquillity, lost in her pain, a slave to her memory. Laughing in her madness, it echoed into the night sky. A bird that had been nesting in the tree branch above her flew off, frightened by the commotion, leaving a few scattering feathers to float to the ground.


She brought the dagger to her ankle, her eyes lined with tears of sadness, though her demeanour clearly not feeling quite the same way. Pulling it across her flesh, blood began to dribble downward, not an inch of pain on the twisted female’s face. She cut and carved. Eventually there would be a snake wrapped around her ankle, eventually he would be permanent. He could never leave her again.


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#2
The acrid air of the northern lands always bugged him, even the air in Ichika had been hard for him to breathe. Not that it necessarily carried any sort of difference than any other air in this strange land but just never felt like home. Nostrils flared in annoyance before he stopped the massive horse for a moment. A loud irritated snort escaped the beasts nose mirroring his rider. Just what the hell was the man doing up here anyway, his trail was leading toward where Saul, Nayru and all of them had left to join that farce of a pack. Was he being called up there for some reason? Nothing made sense to him anymore except his horse, his armor, and his abilities as a warrior. But his glaring inept abilities toward friendship, fatherhood and attachment ran very deep. Forlorn hung to him like a sickness, and it did him no good to contemplate on all the shit he'd fucked up in his life.


It all started back where he had came from, home, he had royally messed that up. He could have had it all, could have lead his own pack, could still be with his family, but no he had self destructed. Saluce had done it to himself after all, had done it again in Dahlia and now he had left Nayru, his adopted son and the rest of them to their fate, in their self proclaimed promise land.


The air around him seemed tense, no creature wanted to stir around him. No one would be stupid enough to blatantly attack him as he stared up at the mountain range. Blue hues looking at the crests, knowing all he had to do was climb back over those mountains and let loose a long howl and he'd find his family there waiting for him once again. But no such action transpired, he slumped back down on his horse turning away from the infamous mountain range, urging his horse back south. South toward his self imposed prison, toward a way of life he had known but found no pleasure in anymore. His home had always been a lonely one in Dahlia, but that wasn't the case whenever he left it. He had once been surrounded by what he had called his family in all directions. The loneliness was easy to deal with then, knowing Nayru or Saul would be about somewhere. But if Conor's absence had drove home the inevitable it was when Nayru told him of her plans that had cut the deepest. He should have just burnt it all to the ground, every last building, grape vine, every last piece of existence that he had known because that would have been easier than seeing the empty buildings. Nothing cut as hard and as deep still than seeing Conor's home in shambles, his repairs had failed, the roof had fallen back in after they had left. He had spent many nights laying in the bed he had once been nursed back to health in. Replaying vivid imagines of Bris, Conor, and all the children running around. They hadn't been his back then, hadn't been apart of him, but they had slowly webbed their way in.


Nayru had in a sense broke his heart, ripping away the meaning to the land that had meant more to him than he had ever let on. What he had found in Dahlia was a land that reminded him of Normandy and then the family he once had, and the father he still missed. But just like then it had all been torn from him, nothing left but empty buildings and memories. Why did Nayru have to always move forward and not respect the past.

It didn't matter, his horse trotted along, the smooth rhythm of hoof beats thumping the ground, thump thump thump, before a interesting scent crossed his nose. The smell of burnt leaves and wood burning in the wind and a bit of something else too. The males nose was good almost too good at times, the aroma carried with it hints of another wolf. Maybe even a female, oh he was at the whims of his nose at times, and how the thought of company seemed to stir him from his bout of loneliness and depression. So he did what any bachelor would do, he steered his horse in the direction of the scent.


It wasn't until he reached the small little clearing that he actually spied her, looking at the faint orange glow of the dark lady sitting against the tree. He didn't initially see what she was doing but he smelled blood and wondered if she was hurt, but he also scented alcohol as well. He studied for a moment in quiet, having tied up his horse a bit away as to not expose the great beast to a hostile enemy. Blues focused in, narrowing before a look of shock appeared across the behemoths face. She was cutting herself!


It happened quickly his form stormed through the brush, making a bee line to her. Wanting to know just why a beautiful looking woman would be doing such a thing.

“Just what are you doing!?” he breathed out look at her in better light now.
#3
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Sorry for the wait. Sad


First the body, then the head… She had gone over this in her mind countless times. She knew how it would look, how it would feel. Even now as the blade slid neatly through her flesh, she could feel a sense of accomplishment within herself. Lucia had successfully carved the body of a snake; it curled around her ankle, over her shin.




There was sick smile on her face. Blood soaked into her fur, dripped onto the earth. She couldn’t feel it, she was numb. The alcohol had helped a lot, but it mostly came down to her frame of mind. She was warped, deranged. He had made her this way, and now he continued to plague her every thought. No matter what she did, he was there. It was though he had never left… but that wasn’t good enough. She had to make it real.



Continuing to cut, Lucia hadn’t noticed the shining eyes nearby. She hadn’t caught the scent of companionship, nor caught the sounds of movement heading for her. Those emerald coals bore into her body, concentration and anguish across her face. The blade sparkled in the firelight, sending a light over her eyes. The scar that lurked over her left eye wrinkled, glared out as a fierce reminder of how she viewed herself. Lucia was as damaged and as ugly as that scar, she was a monster. Though, in this moment, she couldn’t see that, couldn’t feel that. All she could see was Snake, all she could feel was the strange tingle of pain, and she devoured it hungrily.



It wasn’t until a voice shot through the wilderness that her attention came back to reality. Looking up, her eyes narrowed as she looked into the shadows for the owner of the voice. She could see him, glowing from the flames. It gave him a ghostly aura, almost like some sort of martyr with a halo. Lucia sneered coldly, thinking for a moment that he was just her imagination toying with her. The alcohol and depression had twisted her thoughts. She couldn’t believe anything was real anymore. Why would she want to? Reality was painful… and Lucia did not want to feel pain. Even now, when she drew the blade of her dagger through herself, she couldn’t allow herself to feel it.



“What do you think I’m doing?”
She rasped spitefully, a look of instability in her eyes. She couldn’t feel the tears in her eyes anymore. They must have dried up. The shock of interruption had cured her of that weakness. “I’m fixing myself…” She muttered quietly, turning her head back to her bleeding leg.

She started to carve the head, still adamant that the male who stood in the light of the fire wasn’t real. She couldn’t allow herself to think that, it would torture her. She couldn’t escape men, they were everywhere. No matter where she went, what she did, they came and found her. Was someone doing this to her? Was something out to get her? Her paranoid mind raced dangerously. She was fragile, damaged. She was a loaded gun.



Slicing the head into her muscle, she noticed that in the unannounced visit of this male, she had screwed up the brand. Lucia growled unhappily, looking back at the silvery male. “Look what you made me do… stupid fool!” She growled under her breath, the smell of alcohol wafting into her nostrils. She wanted to throw her dagger at him, put his skull into the fire. Anything to make herself feel better. This rage was building. She was an unstable mixture of chemicals, a bomb ready to explode. If only Snake hadn’t left… oh, how things would have been different.



Trying to recover her brand, Lucia again tried to ignore the presence of the male. She went to cut again, to finish her little masterpiece. This way she would never be alone again. He could never leave, never disappear without a trace. He would always be with her, and she could feel happy again… Oh, Lucia… such a twisted, deranged mind. Happiness could never come this way.

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