Ember and Partnership

   "Ember," Voices call out, "Get your a*s over here!" 

   They sound close, I can hear my father and siblings voices in the mix, as well as my many handlers. But I refuse to respond. I will wait until the last  second possible. I don;t want a partner- don't need one. I work solo.

   I wait high in the foliage, listening to their frantic panic, trying to find me. I'm not hiding all that well, so they must be extremely stupid not to find me. All they'd have to do is let their senses range out, listen closer for my breathing or the tempo of my heartbeat and they'd find me. Morons.

   "The cars here! Find her! NOW!"

   My partner's here already? Whatever. Why should I care if they're here or not? Maybe I could run away before they... no, it would be impossible, there are to many looking for me and not enough time. I wouldn't make it.

   Though I don't really care about them, I can't help but wonder: whether they're a boy or girl, what they look like, what they act like. Will they be kind? I have never met or even seen the person who I must entrust my life to, the beginning to my end.

   The person who will control my freedom, my life. Even my death  will be relegated to them. 

   They've already put the contract collar on my neck, the one that will kill me unless I come fifty meters of them every seventy-two hours. They, Sparks,  just need to give the seal of blood to mark me as theirs. I will be a living piece of property. Just thinking about it makes me sick, being chained to someone. I'm already property of the Syndicate, just a tool. A dangerous weapon under lock and key.

   I am, simply, a horrible, terrible monster they've tamed and will do their dirty work. A mass killer with blood dirtying every inch of her, filling every pore with their evil. A girl so filthy, the sun won't touch her and no amount of washing will clean her. A child who killed and seen so many, it's normal. That she almost can't remember why it's so bad to murder... That girl- no, a monster- devoid of almost any emotion.

   I am that girl, that monster. I will never be clean, the blood under my fingernails will never disappear. I am so dirty. No amount of soap can rid me of the grime, too far for repentance. Forgiveness. My sins cling to me like my shadow, a darkness which I may never part.

   But then again, I am too far gone to care. My emotions essentially died along with my first kill, a demon. My mother. I killed her when I was about three years old, I don't remember when exactly and she's a forbidden subject. She doesn't even have a gravestone. All records of her, excluding my siblings and I have been destroyed. 

   It's almost like she's never existed. Except I exist and my very life proves her existence. I am her sins, the embodiment of her crimes.

   I am a creature that shouldn't exist, a beast with two extremes running through her veins. I am part holy creature and part demon.

   My ancestors came from heaven to rid the world of lawless demons and monsters. To protect the humans and help them return to their merciful god.

   God gave the celestial beings powers to care for the humans and help them. But they came at a price: if the holy creature harmed a human, it would lose it's holy powers. The holy powers that protected the humans protect his holy followers too.

   The angel that kills a human will fall, become "possessed" and turn into a demon itself. They will kill as many humans as they can, drag them to hell with them.

   My mother killed a human. She hid it well, being a demon. It happened long before I was born, yet they discovered it sometime after later. By the time they found out, she was strong, very strong and very "evil". Every time a fallen holy child takes the life of a human, their demonic powers while a little bit of the light that's left in them is stripped away.

   When they found out that my mother was a demon, she was black. There was not a speck of light left within her. She was so strong that no one could defeat her, no human or celestial being, at least. A demon could, but why would they take her out of the running of turning earth into hell?

   That was when they turned to me, a child with mixed blood, a creature whose power may rival that of their god or Satan themselves. I was so strong that I almost defeated my mother easily.

   But I was still a child, I didn't know what I'd done would kill her. I'd just followed the orders of the Syndicate and my father.

   That was when I learned what death was. That the dead don't come back to life. How the sparkle goes out of the eyes of the dead. How cold their bodies get.

   I've never told anyone what happened the day that 

I killed her. What she said to me. That she knew. She knew I was going to kill her.  And that she let me.

   She spoke my name. My lost name. "You will walk a fine line between insanity and fear. You will either fight the light or the darkness, you will have to choose. You will either make or break your evil."

   That was when I killed my mother. My own mother with the words "I love you" on her dying lips. I watched the light go out of her eyes and that was the moment I found out what death was. What murder was. Mom wasn't going to hug me and say 'got you'. I had killed my kind, loving mother who acted that way only around me.

   That was the moment I was thrust into the dark world of killing. After all, if I'd killed my mother- why not put me to work? The Syndicate had no qualms about using a seven year old killing machine. I was part demon, I had no feelings to them.

   I was already working missions when my elder siblings were starting to handle weapons and the such. Normally you aren't aloud to to leave and fight until you're between ten and thirteen years old. To learn the essentials, find your chosen field, get a partner.

   I was taught the basics and started fieldwork at seven.

   But I had a penchant for running off after a mission, exploring the outside world. Because of that, I have a fly risk and am kept under lock and key.

   I now live in a room I can't leave unless I have permission or pay a fee. I am granted only one day a week to leave without a fee.

   The only time I am let off the grounds of Syndicate Three is if I'm on a mission. And even then, I'm on a short-term psychic leash with a radius of five meters.

   I have to laugh, when they brought me from my room to prepare for my partners arrival and following celebrations, they left me alone for a second. In the fifteen seconds left alone, I ran. I didn't have to run and I din't particularly want to, I just ran. I guess it's because I hate being controlled or told what to do.

   That's why I'm dressed the way I am. They want me pretty. I do look nicer than I usually do...

   That is why I'm sitting in this tree, dressed in black, chains,  and spikes. I'm wearing my favorite pair of high heeled, black, belted, thigh high boots. They were not meant for climbing or many of the things I do in them, so I have had to train in order to do so.

   I climb a little higher up the tree, then fin a branch that can hold my weight. I sit sideways so I can swing my legs freely, back and forth, back and forth. A small semblance of freedom.

   I close my eyes and listen to the air swishing as my legs pump the air, the yelling of the people. The soft breath of a person close to me, branches rustling as they get closer.

   I open my eyes, the world dazzling and bright behind the head of a teenage boy. He is beautiful, with light coloring and a youthful expression. He looks like the sky itself.

   He smiles, voice soft and breathy. he says "Hi." 

   I nod in reply, close my eyes again and listen to the wind, the quieting voices.

   "Do you live here?" He asks and I nod again. "Then," He pauses, "Could you tell me about this girl? Her name is 'Ember' and is going to be my partner. I've never met her so... I want to know about her."

   I shake my head. I open my eyes slightly and look at my fishnets, the few inches shown of them. He sighs lightly and I glance at him, his face is downcast, disappointment flitting across his features.

   I hear his name, as well as mine, being called, somewhere in the distance.

   "I best be going," He says as he stands, "It was nice to meet you. My name is 'Sparks'. See ya." He leaps deftly from from branch to branch, farther and farther away from me. 

   I sit in my own branch for a few seconds, listening to his fading bounds. Then I push myself from my bough and fall to the ground. I land on the balls of my feet in a crouch, careful not to snap the delicate heels of my boots, finger tips brushing the ground before standing up.

   I straighten and walk to the main house, pain reverberating in my legs.

   Two people walk on either side of me, dragging me by my forearms while a psychic cripples me. They shouldn't worry, I won't run away anymore and soon I will no longer be able to. I am pulled along, all the way up to the alter where Sparks will wait. The room goes silent as I am dragged toward him. 

   I glance up in time to see Sparks give a double take, seeing my face. Anger and confusion fly across his face before quickly hidden by a cool composure. The Syndicate doesn't remove emotion for no reason at all apparently.

   I am held up by the two, by the the alter and the ceremony commences. Although I hear nothing, I know when to speak- even without the psychic poking me mentally, telling me when. I know the words so well, I could probably say them even if I was dead.

   The collar tightens as the words must be spoken but the sounds are gone, even the psychic is dim in my head under the roar in my ears, the pain in my temples. the pain... is almost unbearable.

   Vaguely, I recognize the scent of blood, the feel of the collar as it becomes one with flesh, the oppression of ownership. I can feel the loss of being, I no longer am 'own person', although I never truly was free in the first place.

   The spirit in me rises against the owner, is crushed, extinguished like a paltry flame put out by a breath. The collar works. I am nothing.

   Arms pull me again. I don't even try to walk. Let them drag me to wherever the hell they want.

   And finally, the pressure give and the roar fills my senses with darkness.

   I awake to the color of pale blue, similar to the non-existent skies but not quite. The blue pulls away and they become a pair of eyes, the eyes of my owner.

   Sparks.

   "Why didn't you tell me you were Ember? You said you didn't know her- but you are her!" He's angry, voice just a bit too loud. His words reverberate in my head, echoing, echoing, echoing...

   I turn to see from my spot on the floor. I'm inside the entrance to my bedroom, the area I make deals to buy my freedom. I sit up and the world spins for a moment but I don't care. Standing up, I nearly fall back down to my a*s. I take a few steps to walk to my "bedroom". The world goes dark for a moment and I tip over, sending a pile of something flying to the floor. 

   I hear Sparks voice: "Ember!"

   I want to ask, 'Who's Ember? I want to know. She's too hard to understand- but I need to know who she is so I can act like her.' But I don't.

   I hear the door to the hall close, Sparks has left, snubbed on too many times by me. I don't care. I find the corner of the linens closet I call my bed and lay on the mattress I've made of cloth.

  Finally, blissfully, the world goes dark once again. 

  I do not dream.

  I awake in the dark. fully recharged. I stretch like a cat, letting all my joints pop and snap in beautiful cacophony.

  I hear my name get called, the sound that woke me up? No, it would have been the door. I hurry to where they, the person calling my name is, and hope they're only in the foyer and not deeper within my room.

   I run through the long halls of my bedroom and into the main door as the person was just about to leave the foyer and enter the hall. I crash into them, there was no time to slow down, and we both fall, with me landing on top of them. Before I even think of climbing off, before I even know who it is, I'm begging them not to go past the doors. I catch myself, apologize and crawl off the person beneath me.

  I glance beneath my hair to see who it was fell upon- Sparks- and blush. He stands and I sit on the floor, cold tiles beneath my knees. He puts out a hand and helps me up, but I am reluctant to stand.

  I stare at my toes and flinch when he asks, "Do you want to go to breakfast?"

  My head jerks up in surprise. He laughs at my expression and continues, "Am I not aloud to ask my partner to breakfast?"

  He sobers though, when I ask, "I'm aloud to leave my room?"

  "Why wouldn't you be?"

  I sigh as I blush harder, burning holes into my feet. He doesn't know yet. That I can't leave. I glance up at his serious face and turn back to my toes. Would he think it's wrong or right how they rule my life? I don't want to find out even though I need to.

   "Never mind," I wish I hadn't have asked.

    I'm afraid of this person, knowing I belong to him as one owns a possession. Will he treat me well? Or will he treat my like the Syndicate does, a useful tool that can't be trusted? Could he treat me worse than the Syndicate? What if he is worse? What if I'm never aloud to go out- except to dirty my hands more? What if he uses more than this collar to tie me down, to tie me to him?

   What if he grows to care for me? If he likes this lie? I haven't been loved since I killed my mother? I can't deal with love...

   I wish Ember were real so I could ask her, find out what I am supposed to say.

   I feel the truth, every lie that's passed my lips. He wants the truth. The words are straining, wishing to pass through to tell this stranger who holds my life in the palm of his hand the truth. But I won't he can't know. He'd make my life a living hell if he found out I wasn't Ember-

  My chin is jerked upward by the force of two fingers. I react badly to the surprise, trying to throw him for touching me, although he stops me from doing so. He forces me to look into his eyes, the ones the color of the sky I am not aloud to see.

   He repeats his earlier question, "Why wouldn't you be aloud to leave your room?" I glance away but he entreats me, "Look at me! Answer my question- please!"

   I cannot look him in his dangerous eyes that tell me of forbidden things: open skies, hopes, dreams, wishes. I cannot look into that purity and tell them the truth- or lie to that innocence either.

   But, already, I can, yet again, feel the oppression of being owned the forced feeling of having to tell him something I don't want to.

   So instead of letting him disarm me, force me, and eventually hurt me, I will hurt him to protect myself.

   "Ignore it." I tell him, "Don't ask me. I don't want to tell you. Please."

   I can feel the hurt roll of him in waves, along with curiosity; it bothers me that I am such a coward but I am unrepentant. I am afraid of pain.

   "Fine." He says the words stiffly, "But if you ever feel like it, please tell me."

   "...That will only happen if you order me to," I mumble, words escaping my lips before I can think to stop them.

   "What was-"

   I cut him off, "Leave." I can feel him mustering up his resolve to ask a question and I say the word again and again and again, my voice becoming loud.

   Sparks, my master with eyes of sin and purity, leaves without another word and I heave a sigh of relief. 

   And then I fall to my knees, clutching my throat in agony. I hurt my master too much and now he is punishing me. The collar tightens, forbidding me to breathe.

   I scratch at my throat, trying to remove the foreign object that is now making the world hazy and dark. My nails scrape away the skin but slip against the black ownership. My neck becomes sticky with blood, my face as well, later, when I collapse forward, victim to asphyxia.