Mirrors in her Hair

[Skie and Avery]

-closed-

She had mirrors in her hair, and they flashed every time she moved. As the light danced with the tribal woman's feint, Skie was nearly blinded. The sparks of white were buried in dark tresses, and a distraction that the swordswoman couldn't afford. She was already outmatched, the dark drops of her blood on the flowers around her an indication of just how badly she'd misjudged the woman in front of her.

She'd come to the Citadel today for a challenge, to hone her skills the way she'd done when she was younger. Raiaera had a way of showing her just how useless she was when it came to her, her sword, and unspeakable evil. If she weren't so determined to face it and keep the world safe, she might have noted how unfair it was. Most Radasanthian young woman had only their lazy husbands and hyperactive children to complain about, or perhaps the lament that the Civil War that had taken their sons and husbands from them also made importing the finery that made life a little less bitter difficult and expensive. Murder, amputation and the defense of an undead-overrun Raiaera was usually scarce in Coronian conversation around washtubs and in marketplaces.

That sort of common life had been made impossible a long time ago. She'd believed when she was a child that she could hide away in the city and be happy and amazed every day by simple pleasures. Things got complicated somewhere along the way, though it could have been the exact moment that the hero Devon dan Sabriel had created life with a demoness in the guise of an angel. She'd been born to walk a hero's path, her sword taken from the tower where it'd sat after her father's greatest deed. She wondered if she was alone in the march Fate had commanded her to walk.

Her opponent might sympathize. The girl before her had at first looked like a slip of nothing at all, but Skie soon realized her mistake in thinking that. Her bare feet, silent on the grassy plain they fought, were bare and dirty. Her legs had been garbed in dark trousers that had been torn up her calves. A brightly dyed scarf of many colors was wrapped around her torso, her face and arms stained in strange symbols with the dyes as well. Her facial features had been unremarkable, a plain face with dark eyes, but it was the hair that really stood out. Beyond her markings and the pretty wrap, long dark hair woven through with mirrors would always be the first thing to grab attention.

Even now Skie could hear mirrors clinking together as the girl whirled around her and made another stab with those vicious daggers.

[Blind Justices]

She had mirrors in her hair, and they caught the Concordian moonlight as she moved through the trees. Underneath the vampiress and her flashy accessories, Melancholy was weaving around trunks and through underbrush. The once-fishwife was struggling to keep up, even as she let the full moon bring out her lycanthropy. As a wolf, she was moving through the forest with ease, but the undead woman above her was faster. Now and then, Mela would yelp, her voice tight with pain when the vampiress dribbled the acidic liquid she kept in a vial down onto the werewolf's back.

It had been that vial that caused all the trouble. The vampires tended to stay in the caverns and mansions of the forest, keeping out of the deeper woods where the werewolves ran free at night. The last fortnight, however, they'd been coming in, flashing through the trees, just out of reach of snapping wolfen jaws or the usually accurate bolts of the pack. They were desperately seeking something, and Melancholy was only one of the wolves dispatched to make sure they didn't find it.

It had only been two nights ago when they'd found their leader dying in the ferns. His neck was eaten out by a strange liquid that hissed and burnt anything that touched it. Clutched tightly in his hands had been a tiny mirror, wrapped around with dark hair.

In the boughs above Melancholy, light flashed on a mirror piece again, and her paw exploded with pain as more of the strange liquid rained down. It hurt so bad she didn't notice the light flashes had fallen to the ground until she nearly ran headlong into Isis Mordant.

It was a beautiful night, and Miss Mordant was dressed to kill.

[Skie and Avery]

Steel lay cold in the grass, cradled by the earth. She'd dropped her sword when the girl sprang forward, and now they were caught in a stalemate, each trying to overtake each other. As the nameless child's blades were hovering dangerously before Skie's neck, her hands gripped the dagger mistress' wrists. Her arms were already burning with the effort it was taking to hold the girl back, her heartbeat alive in her ears. Everything else was a dull undertone to that pounding, from the wind whipping through the few lonely trees that dotted the plains to the sound of their grunts and the mirrors that furiously clinked as the dark girl tossed her hair about.

There was a moment when Skie gasped, and she saw triumph in her opponent's eyes. Her footing slipped, already perilous in the soft dirt and blood slick grass, and with it came her arm. A blade flashed to the side, grazing her neck for a moment as it sank into her shoulder. A jab, a pierce, and the burning of metal in her flesh, and Skie knew it was over. She sank down, her arms shaking as the girl bore down on her.

Dark eyes that had once been so unassuming were piercing now, and Skie could have sworn that the girl, whose breaths were hot and humid and pressing against her cheek, now had hazel eyes that were lightening with every passing moment. Something more basal, more Moontae tore within the swordstress, and even as she felt teeth graze against her neck she knew what it was that was atop her, digging it's claws into her wounded shoulder like a bitter reminder that she had failed.

Vampyre.

[Blind Justices]

She paused to regard the vampiress. Isis was beautiful in the moonlight, as all her kin were. How she'd run through the canopies without ripping the red velvet dress was a mystery to Melancholy, one that only served to warn her how attentive and quick the woman must be. In one hand, the dark eyed vampire carried the vial she'd been using to injure the werewolf, finally empty. In her other, she held a scrap of paper tightly, as if it were more important than any weapon she could be given. Mela's eyes, redder than the blood that came to the surface with the acid wounds, met the abyss black gaze of her prey. A rolling growl escaped her throat, and with the werewolf jaws that made it so difficult, she spoke.

"What are you looking for, daemon?"

Isis laughed, rolling her eyes. Her dark curls shimmered as her laughter bobbed her head, the mirrors twinkling as the stars above did. Melancholy could see her own reflection as the tiny shards moved, catching the shape of her form against silver. Hunched and thin, covered with matted honey hair, flecked with blood and dirt; she knew she looked ragged and disgusting faced with the perfect curves of the vampiress. Despite appearances, she knew who the true monster was here.

"What is that human expression?" Isis asked, as if she were talking to herself and not an angry, wounded werewolf. "If I told you, I would have to kill you."

Snarling, Melancholy sprang. Her form barreled into Isis, sending the empty vial flying to land within a patch of fragrant red blossoms. The two rolled, Melancholy's jaws locking around the undead's forearm. The vampire cried out in pain, pulling, from where it'd been concealed under the skirt of her dress, a long dagger. The black metal sparkled with jewels, and it flashed in the light before being buried to the pommel in the werewolf's shoulder.

The forest was shaken by her howl, the wind trembling in the canopies above as birds retreated from their nests to find somewhere to hide from the two angry predators. They struggled now, each trying to gain the upper hand as both wolf and cold vampire blood spotted the forest floor. They trampled ferns as they wrestled, the snap and crack of twigs sharp in the air as they were snapped underfoot.

Finally, Melancholy released Isis' arm, drawing back and smacking the woman away with her wounded paw, bubbling flesh and weeping blood only made messier on impact. Both hissed in pain, and when Isis drew up again, their glares locked.

"You'll not stop me, wolfenkind." Isis said, her voice shaking as she brushed muck and dead leaves from her dress.

"I will." came her reply, in a voice deep and gruff with the Change. "or I'll die trying."

[Skie and Avery]

She hadn't thought that the bite would be as difficult as it was when it finally came. There had been once or twice when her own teeth had come down around human flesh in a passion far removed from the dances of the Citadel. While she had never drawn blood during one of those primal moments of heat and pleasure, she'd seen just how different a person was from the undead. Her time spent in Raiaera had proved that there was something quite different about the walking dead that turned a warrior's flesh into the softest bread. As the jaws around her throat worked to gain more purchase than just the faint poke of sharp canines, Skie mused that perhaps zombies were animated with far stronger jaws than anything else on earth. Her thoughts lost track as the bite finally split her skin, a gasp coming automatically as plain exploded in her mind. It was followed quickly by the pulsing sting of someone sucking at the blood that was welling up all too willingly.

She wanted to fight the vampire, to throw her off, but as caught as a fly within a spider's grasp, so was she unable to escape. Her legs felt heavy, as if the leather leggings that protected them from the elements were now choking down, her arms were like lead weights. Finding comfort in the fact that she was within the cradling arms of Radasanthian's Home of Reincarnation, she cursed and spat uselessly into the hair that poked her cheeks with mirror fragments. Her body grew ever more heavy and she watched through a fading and blurring gaze as her attacker, who had never given her a name to hate, sat back. Red dripped and melted down from a stained and toothy grin, and for the first time since they'd entered the vast plains of the arena, the girl spoke. Skie recognized the Concordian accent, for it was so similar to the lilts and flairs that her own people, the Moontae, spoke with.

"Go on now to sleep, Princess," the voice said in a coo reserved for the sick and the newborn, "Go on to your dreams and when you wake, what great paths will be before you!"

Skie's last train of thought, before she was lulled into slumber, was how a vampire could fight so well in a daylight arena, and why would said vampire start to weave wildflowers and mirrors into her long black hair. After all, wasn't she about to die?

[Blind Justices]

The forest reverberated with their howls. Before springing towards the vampiress, Melancholy had released the Call. Her voice had come from her heart, forcing the emotion through her throat. This woman before her, a cold heart and empty soul, was responsible for the calamity among the werewolf clan now. It would be justice that came this night, the soul-twisting sound of their cries getting closer and closer in the night. It made Mela smile, even though the fangs of her enemy were snapping ever closer to her neck as they grappled in the forest. She might die tonight, but it would not be in vain.

They rolled over more of the crimson blossoms that seemed to sprinkle the animal paths crossing in the brush, releasing their intoxicating scent. As the werewolf breathed them in, her lungs gulped more and more. Drool dripped from her teeth, down her lips and into her fur. Her eyes were brighter, her muscles given new strength as an alien feeling came over her. It was beyond survival and revenge now. She desired this vampire's death.

It became a need, coming from the same primal core as the need to mate. Her body burned, her nipples ached. She could feel herself growing wet, as if she wanted to fuck this woman to death. These feelings were evil in the eyes of Brother Smert. She knew what she felt was wrong, and she blamed the lovely Miss Mordant who would look so wonderful smashed to a bloody pulp underneath her claws.

The vampiress sprung back, away from the werewolf's claws, and closed her eyes. For a moment she looked as if she were sleeping, and Mela paused in confusion. When Isis Mordant was once again looking at her, she couldn't help but shiver. There was something in her eyes that spoke of larger winnings than just this forest skirmish.

"Just go back to your den, wolfcousin." the vampiress hissed, grinning with her fangs glistening in the moonlight. "This battle has nothing to do with you."

"You killed our alpha!" she screamed as she shook in anger. "It has everything to do with the pack now."

"He was in the way of something greater than himself," the vampiress said.

Melancholy watched her for a moment, getting a hold on her anger. Instead of attacking with claws and teeth, she ran her hand down the length of a shaggy thigh, where her weapons where strapped. Ignoring the silver knife, she grabbed a solid oak stake. Despite her claims of a greater plan, the vampiress had made herself an enemy to the pack the old fashioned way, and it would take a weapon as time tested as the stake to drive that point home.

[Skie and Avery]

She was travelling through the night and it felt so much like flying. Her blue eyes were weary, her mind wanting to fall into sleep. Yet, even in the glorious fog that had taken her in the lap of the vampire, she felt so alive. There was a darkness growing in her heart, her face was a slab of stone more emotionless and cold than the Northern winds. She didn't know where the sorrow or fear had gone.

She had been born anew.

And now the wilderness of Corone was flying under her. As Moontae, even when her wing was still upon her back, she had never been able to take to the sky as her brother had. Flight was a wasted concept back then. Now, the night bore her as if she were a feather lost to the breezes and currents. She was the jet stream, town and homes and small glens of treetops and ponds passing beneath her. All the time she was aware of the soft chime of mirror shards in her hair, and how her laughter in the wicked night was blacker than the sky above.

Concordia could already be spotted ahead, and within it she knew secrets that brought her fangs to glow in a toothy grin while some small voice hidden away in the blackness of her heart began to weep. Beneath her, a pack of huge wolves were rushing through the trees. Somehow, Skie knew they were all going to the same place. It was perfect, she decided. There were enough of them for all their deaths to be reflected in her hair.

[Blind Justices]

There was movements in the canopy now. Deep obsidian shadows moving in the form of bodies among the wave and curl of dark leaves. Here and there moonlight filtered through and fell upon a face or the flash of a limb as the werewolf and vampire were watched. The light came down upon Melancholy's beastly form, and the stake she held in her hand. Isis laughed. It was rich now, a victory sound that rolled from her throat.

"Even if you kill me now, it's too late," the vampiress stated, so calmly for a woman who had been fighting tooth and nail against the wolf. Were the figures above more of the vampire coven? Melancholy let out a growl of frustration and began stalking towards the dark haired temptress of the night. Strangely enough, Isis made no move.

When she was face to face with the vampire, within arms length, they stared each other down. As the lycanthrope looked upon that too pale face with those too dark eyes, she wanted to rip her head off. The unblinking gaze of the vampiress was igniting territory yearnings that came with the wolf side of her, and a holier call for cleansing that Brother Smert had taught. Something so rare had happened, the paladin and monster within were in agreement, and her prey didn't seem to mind one bit.

Even when the stake was raised, sharp and full of the promise of death, the vampiress held her victorious smile. She should have heard the rustling in the brush; she should have known that Isis wouldn't become a martyr so easily. As the stake began it's descent down, Isis sprang back and a figure came exploding from the left, crashing into Mela and taking her down. They rolled several feet together, the surprised werewolf clawing and yelping as long nails tore at her face. By the time they came to a struggling, squirming stop, Isis had turned tail and ran into the night. The figures in the trees scattered as well, an unknown language echoing through the trees.

With the howls of her packmates closing in, Mela jumped to her feet, her huge fist curling around the hilt of her silver dagger. A throaty growl curled from her lips as she stopped and took stock of her attacker. She was pretty, with dark mirror-entwined hair. A sword was attached to her waist, and her neck was stained with fresh blood and a still open and angry wound. This girl looked less power-crazed than Isis had, less arrogant that any other of the coven Melancholy had seen yet. But in her eyes, so dark blue that they seemed to reflect the midnight skies above, she looked far more hungry.

Melancholy's gut went cold with terror, her wolf blood screaming the obvious at her; she was far from alpha in this fight.