Chapter Two: What the Duck?

Nothing compares to winter in Muortum. It is a beautiful thing. At least, to me it is. The way the snow glistens under the steady heel of your boot as you march ever onward, the way it glints against the pale moonlight, the bare trees whose branches stretch towards you like an anguished corpse’s fingers, the cold breeze that shivers like the tip of a sharpened knife…..

Beautiful. To me, it is flawless. The cold does not bother me, because cold never has. Never in the history of my life. I guess it would fail to affect someone, who, like it, is so numb inside. Perhaps numb isn’t exactly the correct way of describing it, but I do have a way of tuning things out and not feeling things that others would. And I’m fairly certain that is how one would describe the word ‘numb’. ‘Today’ I remember thinking, ‘Today is an Important day.’ and it was. Forever, even now, I will always remember that day. That winter in Muortum.

That day, I was being relocated, from my long-time residence and service in District 3, to District 1. District 1 is the district that is closest to Lord Death’s residence, his gaping empty palace high above it, where nobody resides save his lonely soul. People say he used to have a family, and that some tragedy took them away. Ever since then he has never left that palace, never spoken to anyone, even his own soldiers- his Slayers. If he has spoken to the people of Muortum since then, through some mouthpiece or representative, none of us have ever heard about it. It makes people skeptical, that we pledge such loyalty to a man we have not heard from for years, and may not hear from for years to come.

But you see, there’s just one little problem with District 1…..

There is no Slayer Academy.

It doesn’t make much sense, does it? That the place closest to our leader would have none of his personal defenders? Well, remember what I said before, about being able to make sense out of what is senseless? You’ll need that skill here too. Slayers brought to District 1 are usually the top of their class, and are always the best at what they specialize in. Megan was brought to District 1 a few months before I departed (Mistress Kay and I had a few loose ends to tie up), and since then there have been a few sparse letter exchanges, but nothing that would really tell me what was going on. Perhaps she just isn’t allowed to tell. From what I do grasp (or have been able to pry from her) there’s something about cooperating with hunters, blahblahblah, teamwork, blahblahblah, I love it here, blahblahblah, do you still have my sweater, blahblahblah. Yeah. That’s pretty much all I know. (And yes, I do still have her sweater.)

I can hear werewolves howling in the woods around me as I make my trek. It is not a full moon, but human myths have never had much truth to them in our world. I could have taken a mount, or carriage, or some of that new ‘technology’ (none of us like ‘cars’ or ‘automobiles’ so much, they exist, but many of us do not use them often, if at all), but I chose to walk. A simple two day trip through woodland in winter would be a great survival exercise, and it was. I didn’t need cushy luxuries or warmth to survive, and I took pride in that. I also took pride in the fact that my name was at the top of the list of District 3 Slayer Academy graduates. It wasn’t just that I “looked scary”, or that the front I put up was “Disconcerting”, I was vicious and strong. I was fearless. And I had a talent for hunting down all of the things that go bump in the night. Looking back, maybe all that I did was just a way to let out my anger, frustration, confusion, and hurt. But I still wouldn’t change a thing. I am who I am, and everything I’ve done- It is what defines me.

But that day, I feel like some part of me changed. I met someone that day that, despite differences, and arguments, and many nights of violence- I met someone that slowly, over an amount of time that I cannot explain, slowly grew to fill the hole that had come to rest in the center of my heart. The place where all of my hurt, anger, and frustration had gathered, and bred into a wild sea that I had somehow learned to manipulate to my advantage. In fact, I do believe if I am recounting the story, I should be running into said person in a matter of seconds now….

I brush the hair out of my face and stop abruptly, the steady crunching of snow halting with it. I am surprised, to say the least, that another person would be in the Forest of Thorns, especially in the dead of winter. After all, I’m pretty sure I’m the only person that does this for actual enjoyment. He sits on what must be a hill that I am approaching, at the peak he sits, watching the moon. Or at least, where the moon would be. Tonight is what the mortals below would call a “new moon”. Hence the sky is dark, void of it’s greatest light source. Stars still twinkle, but there does seem to be a gaping absence in the scenery tonight. His hair is black, like midnight, and feathered in a way that would make someone want to touch it as it falls in his face. He wears black and white (wow, how original in a colorless world), and his posture tells me that he has not yet noticed me. Naturally I am suspicious. What sort of man could sit so calmly in the midst of a restricted forest, when the wolves are howling as they are tonight?

“I would suggest moving.” I say, my voice is not stifled by the cold, and my breath drifts in front of me as an icy fog as I cross the snowy ground, my footsteps sure and steady, as they always are. And they always will be. Slayers do not hesitate. Hesitation is weakness. I have never hesitated a day in my life.

“Why?” He asks me, not even bothering to look back and see to whom he is speaking. His voice reminds me of shadows when the full moon is out, his voice is solid and yet it wavers, drifting in the wind like a ghostly song. But the word, ‘Why’, is often one that vexes me coming from others’ lips. Most of the time it is said with a mocking tone, the sort that grates against one’s nerves.

“Because if you don’t, I may just push you down that hill.” I cross my arms over my leather clad chest, and he turns to look over his shoulder at me. His eyes, as it would turn out, are a sort of silver, the sort of silver that is sharp and lethal. I immediately decide that I like those eyes. Not in the typical female way of ‘Oh my god! He has the dreamiest eyes!’, but in the slayer mindset, the mindset that said, ‘I could respect someone with eyes like that.’. And respect is something that is hard to come by, especially from someone who could very well be the most impeccably trained guard dog that the world has ever known. Because that’s what many people call Slayers, “Guard dogs”, at least those who aren’t altogether fond of them.

“Why would you do that? I’m just sitting here, getting all my ducks in a row.” He says nonchalantly, seeming to brush off my intrusion as though I were just a fly.

Let me get something off of my chest right now. I don’t understand metaphors like ‘Getting my ducks in a row’ or ‘Cat got your tongue?’ or things like that. I trip over them, and often mistake them for being literal, so I never use metaphors like that. I’m more of a straightforward kind of girl. If you catch my meaning .  .  . No not that meaning, you dirty minded scoundrel.

And me being, well, me, I look around the deceased and haunting forest.

“There are no ducks here.” I say blatantly, not amused with him at all. He gives me the strangest look. I just give him my steady gaze as he takes in my appearance, long black hair as dark as your worst nightmare, skin as pale as a porcelain doll, and a single eye, the right one, a blue jewel against the black and white scheme of our entire world, the left one covered by a simple black eyepatch and my dark bangs. A bullwhip is coiled at my right hip, which no doubt would attract any sane person’s eye.

“Can you answer a question of mine?” He asks.

“I suppose.” I say, still a bit cautious.

“What are you doing out here in this forest anyway? A serious person like you.”

“Well, I’m not here being worthless like you. And I have none of these ‘ducks’, if that is what you are implying.” I state.

“Are you always so literal?” He narrows his eyes.

“Yes. Now might I ask you a question?”

“Go ahead. You know, if you don’t have a duck, I could be a duck-”

“ShSh!” I say hurriedly, holding up a finger. My fingers are long and thin, nimble. My perfectly curved nails are a lacquered black, like those of a dead body, and they give off a threatening sheen in the night. “My question.” I remind him.

“Yeah, go ahead.” He ushers, clearly getting a bit impatient with me.

“Does this hurt?”

“Does what hurt? Are you crazy or something?-”

And I push him down the hill. Just one quick shove. And man is that a steep hill, I whistle as he tumbles down. But of course- then I feel what may just be a twinge of regret (because if he broke his neck, I would still be legally responsible) and so I hike down after him, my heels leaving odd prints in the snow.

We didn’t even know each other’s names yet- and later, we would laugh about this day, but that was the day that the world started to change. It was destined to change from that day forward.

And the world didn’t even know it.

That was the day ice met shadow, that was the day the knight met the nightingale, that was the day I met the personification of my dark aura- and it was not afraid of me.

That was the day Aurora Nightingale met Kurai Darknight.

Reviews

[Emalie Todd]

HI, Emalie Todd her to give you a review on Chapter Two. (And you should know who I am....maybe if you remember. :3).

This is a wonderful chapter, and I love the imagery used here. It is well used and balanced out throughout the chapter, which makes it better. I love how Aura describes ii...the winter in Muortum.

Nothing compares to winter in Muortum. It is a beautiful thing. At least, to me it is. The way the snow glistens under the steady heel of your boot as you march ever onward, the way it glints against the pale moonlight, the bare trees whose branches stretch towards you like an anguished corpse’s fingers, the cold breeze that shivers like the tip of a sharpened knife…..

It is well done, and is very interesting to hear it described that way. But again this is Aura, we are talking about, so she would think of things in this way.

I love how she is so literal.
“Why would you do that? I’m just sitting here, getting all my ducks in a row.” He says nonchalantly, seeming to brush off my intrusion as though I were just a fly.
Let me get something off of my chest right now. I don’t understand metaphors like ‘Getting my ducks in a row’ or ‘Cat got your tongue?’ or things like that. I trip over them, and often mistake them for being literal, so I never use metaphors like that. I’m more of a straightforward kind of girl. If you catch my meaning . . . No not that meaning, you dirty minded scoundrel.
And me being, well, me, I look around the deceased and haunting forest.
“There are no ducks here.” I say blatantly, not amused with him at all.


Oh how we love you Aura.

I love how you end the chapter.

[Jared Grace]

Nice character design. A dark heroine. And very unpredictable. Like the font by the way

[Catherine Frain]

This is a very well written chapter, in which I love how Aura's attitude shows in this chapter. I love how you get the two with a face-off and how you end it. I can't wait to read more.

[EmaleighLynn]

afdljflsaf oshgsiofhsojfsoighsjfhosuhgosjisjgoasghsgiosjgiosahfogs

Sorry. Fangirling for a sec.

Okay. GOD, Aura's fierce! This makes me laugh, and I just love how it's written so flawlessly! Another fantasitco job, my friend.

[RedRozeNinja13]

"Does this hurt?"
"Does what hurt?-"
Whew. I can have a lot of fun with her as a serious but amusing character. XD

[EmaleighLynn]

XD I think you are already!