Adelaide Kasperian-Kazaar
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Who is it that can tell me who I am?
The drops of water hit against the glass, a spurrious haste of journey. Energetically they dashed themselves against the surface, not caring to what purpose or what end. They slid, having spent their force against the immovable, to dribble downward in listless ambivalence and pool momentarily before gravity drew them into permanent darkness.
Adelaide empathized. She'd felt that way so often it was becoming second nature. Or, was it first? The two were melding ever more into the same. No matter, the end result was always darkness.
An expelled breath. Hers.
And his.
She was keenly aware of his proximity, his closeness. He was just a touch away..
She'd longed for this moment, this very moment. The thought of it had consumed her every thought.
She lingered in the darkness, wary of the exposing light. Her pulse raced making it hard to keep a steady hand. She heard a quiet murmur as he relaxed - a soft sigh, a life-whisper.
A death throe.
Cold steel embraced cold fingers - the blade held her as much as she the blade.
A feather touch of skin to skin, an absorbant patch to Albino flesh and her quarry fell at her feet.
A razor edge to yeilding throat - press down and flood it red.
Adelaide felt the sickening rush, dizzied by the brutal act. Pink eyes rolled back in a porcelain skull. A black hole, the mouth that released no scream.
Some one called her name and she looked up. Kazaar. He was laughing.
She pushed the blade deeper, determined. Her name was called again, a piteous sound gurgling out of tortured lips. The throat beneath her knife was tanned, the blood-soaked collar that of an Imperial airman. Del threw herself backwards in shock as Trix reached for her, disbelieving and disgusted as he struggled, vainly, to lift his head..
Her own screaming woke her as Adelaide threw herself from her bed, still not quite coherent. It was raining and droplets dashed themselves against her window, then dribbled slowly downward. She remembered now, there had been no water. Only blood.
The dream kept coming back. More often and more vivid with each occurence. She felt afraid for what it meant.
Each time Crei was her target. And each time it was someone she cared about who was ultimately beneath her blade.
And always, Aurelias was laughing.
And always, Crei was never dead.
(Title quote from King Lear, William Shakespeare.)
Last edited by Adelaide Kasperian-Kazaar; Jul 14th, 2011 at 09:14:24 PM.
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