The Outcast

Prologue

      Sighing and running a hand through her raven, post-shoulder length hair, a young female about the age of fifteen stared at her reflection in the mirror, watching as trickles of water streamed down her cheeks, biting her tongue as she tried her hardest not to scream at the top of her pain filled lungs. Turning on the faucet, she wet and scrubbed at her hands before lathering them with soap, rubbing the smeared makeup off of her face, revealing hand and finger shaped bruises that outlined and coated the sides of her neck, decorating her with a mock like beauty. Grabbing a white towel, now turned a rusty red from pressing it against a wound from a time long ago, she dabbed the sensitive, puffy skin from around her eyes before drying the rest of her face.

      Her bangs hid her eyes now, creating an illusion of mystery, shrouding and protecting her from the rest of the world’s elements and judgmental eyes and words. A small, sad smile lined her cheeks as she tried to laugh, only feeling the slightest touch of warm air graze the delicate skin of her puckered, crimson lips. Tapping her fingernails against the cool, porcelain sink beneath her, she sniffled before falling to her knees, hugging her petite body close to her, sobbing as a wounded animal would during hunting season, praying for any kind of help from any being through this war on hell. Every breath she took burned at her lungs, causing an electrical pulse to beat through her psyche and body.

      If only she was like her perfect, delicate flower of a twin. Her sister was blessed with curly, blonde locks of hair and sky blue eyes, as she was cursed with the jade eyes of her monster of a father. Her twin, who was fraternal, had the perfect body: hourglass figure and all, while she barely had any figure at all. Shaking, she hesitantly looked up at her reflection in the mirror, desperately trying to see something worthwhile in her cursed eyes: the eyes of a monster. She counted the light freckles on her cheeks: having six on each. Her twin was blessed with pure, perfect and unblemished skin, and a tan that perfectly accentuated her body. She, on the other hand, was pale and lifeless.

      All she would think about was, “Why can’t I be perfect too? Why am I the one that has to suffer every waking moment of my existence? I don't even believe in my own life: life is something that human beings are supposed to enjoy. I simply exist: I’m only here for the benefit of others. Death shouldn’t be welcoming. Death is something that one is supposed to fear. Why does it feel so welcoming and warm, and even almost loving?”

      Getting up, she tore her gaze away from her reflection, crying a woeful tune as she dissolved: leaving a stream of water to drip onto the ground where her feet once rested. The stream drifted beneath the crack underneath the oak door of the bathroom, disappearing somewhere far beneath the darkness below. As time ticked by, the presence of jade eyes could be seen in any reflecting surface on 12:06, the time of Grace Willington’s death. It was a warning to all that entered the new home; a warning that screamed of buried secrets and suffering far beyond the imagination of normal human beings. They held the cries of a tarnished crown; fate cries of a broken family that once held a royal name and bloodline.

      Life, itself, is as delicate as a flower.

Part One

      Clutching her books as she walked down the hallways of Hell, Grace kept her gaze locked onto her moving feet, trembling slightly as she was pushed and shoved by hurrying teenagers on their way to class. Tripping and crying out in fear, her fall was broken when she crashed into a boy with chestnut brown hair and the most beautiful, hazel eyes, that anyone could have ever laid their eyes on. Looking up, Grace’s breath hitched in her throat, feeling her heart stop as the boy muttered an apology, carelessly handing her the books she dropped only seconds before, scrambling up and running off in less than a wretched minute. Sighing and dropping her eyes, she carefully got up and bit her lip, clutching her books tighter as she walked through the stream of normalcy; It was a stream of pre-determined life and existence that had no sense of originality. No one seemed to have their own minds or opinions anymore, and this generation seemed to be ruled by pop culture and tasteless, mainstream music that screams of profanity and sin, and even hopelessness and joy simultaneously.

      Turning her head slightly, Grace flinched as she caught sight of the ripest flock, which were the preps and popular people that have egos larger than the Empire State Building itself. She rolled her eyes as she glanced at her twin: Serenity. The only thing the prep wore was a skirt short enough to see the slightest part of her bottom, and a shirt tight enough to expose the top parts of her breasts and her rather large cleavage. Stumbling into her classroom, she all but ran to the farthest part of the room, hiding in the shadows as she sat in a desk, organizing all the things she needed for her next class. Staring at the time, images began to blur, and a pure white light filled her vision before her head slammed onto the textbook in front of her. Of course no one noticed, since no one ever notices the Outcast.

***

      Trapped within a world of her wildest nightmares, Grace cried as she was pinned beneath the roots of something larger than life itself: destiny. Being crushed by guilt, she was curled up in a corner of a blood red room where torches lined the walls. A deep, roaring laughter vibrated against her eardrums, not caring as she screamed in pain and clutched onto her hair, tugging and desperately trying anything she could to distract herself from this torture. All she could see were her fathers eyes peering at her, scrutinizing and shamelessly judging her every move and thought. She tried to get up, but chains tore themselves out of the ground and walls, binding themselves to her ankles, wrists, and sides, keeping her in place as an apparition materialized before her own eyes. Turning her head to the side, she tried her best not to cry. Her heart reverberated against her ribs, whimpering as an unseen, fiery force pushed her face back near the apparition, not noticing as a steady stream of tears fell from her face, pooling on the ground before dissolving away from her existence like the very essence of her soul.

      “Hello, Grace. Fancy meeting you here, eh?” the being smirked, blowing cigarette smoke into her face. “I was wondering when you would return to me. I had to take extra measures to bring you back this time. It seems as if you were resisting every time I attempted to transport you,” he sneered as his gaze turned dark. “I must be mistaken, no? How could you, a broken mirage, have any power of your own?”

      Staying frozen in her spot, Grace shook as she whispered, “I was scared. I didn't want you to hurt me again. You always hurt me.”

      “How could I ever hurt you?” The man smirked, bringing an ash covered, callus ridden hand to her cheek. Roughly caressing her face, he left crimson and grey colored trails in the shape of daggers. “What father could ever victimize his own daughter, no matter how pathetic she is? I’m helping you. Naughty girls need to be punished.”

      Trying to cross her legs, the young girl whimpered as she looked away, flinching as her father smirked and roared, “You wouldn’t want me hurting your sister now, would you?”

      “No!” She yelled in response, eyes lit up in fury. “I never want you to lay your hands on her! I never want you to tarnish her the way you have tarnished me. I don’t want her to suffer any more than she has to!”

      “Very well,” the man snickered, snapping his fingers as a blindfold appeared wrapped around the girl's eyes, restricting her view from the assurance of what will soon occur. Shaking, she bit her lip hard enough to draw blood as she felt a hand press itself to her thigh.

***

      “Grace!” the teacher screamed, causing the girl to snap her head upwards, not noticing the petrified looks of everyone in the room as they all stared at her with judgmental eyes.

      Her heart was laid out for everyone to see, but only a few took the time to stab and prod at it with a set of forks and knives. Even fewer took the time to take a small bandage and some gauze, attempting to help the poor, defenseless girl patch herself back up. No one knew of the untold stories that would ultimately lead to her demise. No one took the time to care, or to look.

      “This is the third time this month that I’ve caught you slacking off!”

      “I-I’m sorry, Mr. Jones. It won't happen again, I promise,” she whispered, keeping her gaze locked onto one of her pencils. It was pink and covered with little, smiling faces of a white cat with a red bow, indicating a Hello Kitty knock off, but she didn’t care. She thought that it looked cute in the store when she bought it.

      “You say that every single time, and nothing has ever changed. This is your last warning. If I ever catch you slacking off again, I’ll give you a referral.”

      “Y-Yes, sir,” she flinched, scratching a note someone carved into the top of her desk a long time before.

      A desk has seen it all: witnessed the fights and thrown chairs as two students shared a dispute. It has witnessed its brethren get gum attached and shoved onto their undersides. A desk has fallen victim to a forbidden relationship between a student and teacher countless amounts of times before. It has seen it all, but no one takes the time to read the words of thought which are permanently embedded into their skeletons. No one takes the time to care, or look, for the carefully hidden messages which cry and beg for salvation. Why would someone purposefully make a sign of help which was obvious to see? The truest form of help only arrives when a willing person is able to beat all of the predetermined beliefs of society and find the message for his or herself. This person needs to be able to care more than others, and see what others can not see.

This person needs to take the time to look.

      Aaron Walkers watched the girl as she fidgeted in her seat, picking at her fingernails as she desperately tried to immerse herself in the shadows. He watched as the tears seemed to always stream down her face, invisible to the normal students because he took the time to notice. He watched the Outcast as her hands shook every time she tried to take a note, helplessly dropping the pencil every time she attempted to make a stroke. The look of fear in her eyes were everlasting, and he noticed her look of terror every time a certain individual would say a specific word.

      He noticed, but he never said a word.

      Until now.

      In order to get a closer look at the girl, he had purposely crashed into her within the halls earlier in the day, wanting to mentally attack himself as he noticed the helpless look in her eyes; It was a look of a broken heart and fear. He wanted to apologize a thousand times for causing her sorrow, but his words caught themselves in his throat. All he could focus on was the red, healing slits that she tried to hide on her upper arms.

All he could focus on were those beautiful eyes of hers.

      All he heard was the taunting cries of other students as they shouted profanities at her, snickering and telling her to do horrible, unspeakable things, to herself.

All he ever really wanted was to see her smile: he knew her smile could light up New York City a thousand times brighter than the city’s lights already were.

      Sighing sadly, he averted his gaze and focused on the scratched words on his desk, closing his eyes as he read the one, hidden small lost word, over and over again.

      “Help.

***

      Curled up in her safe haven, Grace leaned her back against the cool, library wall as she flipped through the pages of the book in front of her, smiling slightly as she read the words of truth that bounced off of the page. Flipping carefully, not wanting to rip the pages, or even blemish them in any sense, she accidentally squeaked as the book flew out of her hands, shutting and placing itself back on the shelf where she grabbed it only moments before. Crossing her arms, she glared at the individual before her, only wanting him to disappear.

      “What do you want?” she hissed, trying to seem as threatening as possible.

      “I want to help,” came a hushed whisper.

      “Who are you?” She sat up, unable to tear her gaze away from the familiar hazel eyes before her. She noticed the chestnut hair and paled.

      “My name is Aaron, and I mean it. I want to help.”

      “Who would anyone ever want to help me? Who put you up to this! Was it my sister, or was it-”

      “No one put me up to this!” he snapped earning a glare from the librarian, who only motioned for the two to quiet down.

      “Why?” she whispered, turning her gaze to the floor.

      “I want to see you smile.”

Part Two

      Crossing her arms, Grace sat in the uncomfortable chair of some restaurant that she only entered about an hour ago. Across from her was the hazel eyed boy from before, who was busy tearing away at a sandwich as he ate it. His cheeks flushed as he tried to keep his gaze concentrated to the floor beneath him.

      “All right. Why the hell did you bring me to this place, and why are you eating a sandwich?” She asked, looking really confused as she sipped at her water.

      “I was hungry, and I wanted to take you out so we can talk in private.”

      “How is a restaurant more private than the library? There’s a lot more people in here!”

      That’s the point. It’s noisier in here.  It was quieter in the library, so even a whisper could be heard. If we speak quietly here, no one would be able to hear us over their own conversations.”

      “Oh,” was all she could say after a moment’s hesitation, feeling her face turn a bright red because she was embarrassed from her lack of understanding.

      “What’s your story?” He looked up, staring into her eyes.

      “It’s... It’s a long one.”

      “I’ve got time.”

***

      Looking around her large house, Grace giggled as she hopped up to grab on to a doorknob, carefully turning it and opening the door.

      “Come on, Serenity! Let’s go pick some flowers!” She giggled.

      “Otay!” her sister smiled, running after her and into the garden which was in the back yard.

      Following her, Grace squealed and tripped, landing on her knees, sitting in the grass as she picked at the flowers, holding white ones as she tucked them into her sister’s hair. Yelping, she looked back as she felt a hand drag her away, hastily getting up so she could walk.

      “What’s wrong, Papa?”

      “I told you not to be with your sister! I don't want you to dirty her!”

      “But Mama just gave me a bath!”

      “That’s not what I meant! You need to be punished!”

      “No!” she cried as she was dragged into a bedroom, unable to run from its locked torture.

      A few hours later, Grace whimpered as she walked out into the flower garden alone, sitting down in the familiar ocean of jade strands, picking a red flower and looking it over, not noticing that all the white flowers were replaced, tucking it into her hair. It seemed as if the white flowers from before had magically turned a blood red. She rolled onto her stomach and took a stick, dropping into a small creek as she pressed her fingers into the water, cleansing her hands as she started crying. Tearing off her blood-matted dress, she sat in the creek, desperate to wash the filth away, scrubbing her skin raw with the water. It danced around her toes and swirled around her sides, tickling her gently, which caused her to smile again. She almost forgot how to smile.

      Looking over, she curiously picked a flower she had never seen before. It had white petals, but at the middle of each petal were little splashes of red, which were outlined in black. Looking it over one last time, she tucked it into her hair, right next to the red flower from earlier, smiling wider from happiness.

She found beauty.

***

      “That... That was my childhood,” Grace whispered, staring at the white linen and lace table cloth. Scraping her nail against her bare plate, she continued, “Well, my father wanted to keep me seperated from my sister. Still does. He died about five years ago, but he comes to me in dreams, since dreams are connected to the spiritual realm, I guess. He got really drunk one night, and he and my mother got into a fight. A bad one. She ended up in the hospital because he smashed a bottle against her head. After, he got scared, so he ran to his car and drove off, leaving me to call the hospital and the police. He got into an accident and he died at the scene, leaving my mom with permanent brain damage. I care for her so my sister doesn’t have to. It’s my job to protect the both of them, but I can't be near my sister. If I even look at her, my father comes to me in a dream and hurts me. Don't you dare think about telling anyone! I’m not even supposed to tell you. No one in my family even knew what was going on, and I’d like to keep it that way. Besides, there isn’t even anything I could do about it now.”

      “That... That is really screwed up. How could someone do that to their child? It’s not right! If he was still alive, I’d throw him in jail to rot for the rest of his miserable life! And I don't understand! How can he still be hurting you if he’s dead?”

      “I already told you. Dreams are connected to the spirit realm,” She groaned in exasperation. “That’s where spirits live. It’s kind of like how one would imagine the ‘in between.’ It’s the place where a reaper appears to take you to either Heaven or Hell. Also, if a reaper does come to a spirit, the spirit could refuse to to leave, because their next destination is kept a secret. The spirit then resides in the spirit realm for the rest of eternity. Eventually, they learn how to appear on the physical plane, which is what Earth is; It’s where all life begins and ends. Appearing in dreams is one of the easiest ways of haunting, because the spirit doesn’t need to enter the physical plane at all, since dreams are connected to the spirit realm.”

      “How can you possibly know any of this? How do you know how this all works?”

      “To put it simply, I’m a psychic. Kind of. I can't see ghosts, but I can hear them when I choose to. All I need to do is relax my mind, and they come to me and speak. Sometimes, if I’m relaxed enough, I get these flashes of what the spiritual plane looks like. To put it simply, It’s another copy of the physical plane, but a lot more dreary. There’s less color.”

      “How do I know you’re not making all of this up?” He asked with a look of confusion on his face.

      ”I guess you’re just going to have to believe me. I can’t exactly prove it to you,” she growled, glaring at him. "And It’s not that shocking, Mister ‘I can snatch a book out of a girl’s hands and slam it onto a bookshelf using my mind’ guy! What about you? You’re telepathic! Well, telepathetic suits you better, in my opinion, but still!”

      “It’s a gift, I guess. Genetic too. All the men in my family have it. It develops between the ages of eight and eleven from what we’ve gathered. As far as I knew, only my family had any supernatural gifts of qualities. I’m sorry, It’s just a little shocking, ya know?”

      “Nah, it’s okay. I was a little shocked when I noticed my book moved.”

      Rolling his eyes, Aaron laughed and gazed into the eyes of the one before him, looking deeper and deeper into her green orbs.

      Blinking, he found himself laying in a meadow of grass, surrounded by flowers that contained little splotches of red at the centers of their petals, which were outlined in black. Getting up, he blinked and looked down in confusion as he saw the white, skin tight clothing that clung to his body. Walking around, he wondered where all the sound was. There was no wind, nor yelling. There were no sounds of chirping, and not even a car horn.

      There was nothing besides the grass and the flowers.

      The sky above was pure white, and the sun was nowhere to be seen, but Aaron kept on walking- no, running to see if there was anything else in this desolate world that he had somehow stumbled into. Desperate to see another person, or even an animal, he sprinted for what seemed like an hour before he discovered a large oak tree. The leaves were constantly changing their colors, switching from green, to yellow, to orange, and then red before magically turning green again, all in the matter of seconds.

      At the base of the tree was a young girl, who appeared to be about seven years of age. She was curled up, hugging and using a root as a pillow while she slept, quiet sighs escaping her scarlet, parted lips. Raven hair cascaded down her sides, stopping at the small of her back. As Aaron crouched down, the young girl yawned and opened her bright, green eyes, smiling happily as she instantly jumped up, giggling and hugging Aaron tightly.

      “Hi! My name is Grace!” she exclaimed, bouncing and hugging him tighter. “You’re new here! You’re the first person to have ever come here! I’m always all alone here. It’s just me! What’s your name, mister?”

      Feeling his eyes soften, Aaron carefully hugged the young girl in front of him, gently holding her too thin, frail body, against his own, terrified that the action may snap her in half.

      “My name is Aaron, and I’m your guardian angel. I’m here to protect you.”

Part Three

      “Aaron! Aaron!” Grace repeated over and over again, waving her hand in front of the boy’s face, frowning as she watched his eyes glaze over, becoming surprisingly still and silent.

      “Aaron!”

      Snapping his eyes open, Aaron sat straight up in his seat, blinking in confusion before rubbing his eyes with his fists, looking around in shock. Relaxing his shoulders, he leaned back into his chair and shook his head, allowing his shaggy hair to flow to the sides of his face before finally settling in their original location atop his forehead.

      “What the hell happened? You, like, froze and blacked out! It was so weird!”

      “I have no idea!” He blinked in confusion, rubbing his hand against his face before looking back at the girl in front of him. “I had this weird vision, or dream or something. I appeared in this meadow with no sound or sky, which was filled with these beautiful flowers. I found a little kid version of you sleeping at the base of this tree, which had bad ass leaves that kept changing colors. It was very beautiful.”

      Paling before him, Grace gripped onto the table, eyes widening as she shook, biting her lip, a bead of blood appearing at the side of her mouth.

      “I’ve been there before. Well, I had a dream like that as a child. I only had it once, but when I woke up in the dream, I sat there all alone for what felt like days. I couldn’t tell because it was never night nor day. It was terrifying, because it always felt like I was being watched. When I started walking through the grass, something grabbed my feet and tried pulling me. The ground suddenly turned into water, and I started drowning. I don't know how, but suddenly I was pulled out. It... It was so warm. Someone was holding me. It was a man, I think. All I remember is his hazel eyes, and his wings: they were pure white. The tips, however, were ashen, kind of, but they glew every time he moved. They were wrapped around me tightly, keeping me safe. Before he came, I had to fend for myself., but... ever since he came, water has always been so gentle with me. It’s comforting.”

      “That sounds amazing,” Aaron smiled, but on the inside, he felt his stomach sink.

      Guilt is one of the most horrifying and the most powerful feelings that someone could ever encounter.  It crushes the soul, holding the heart hostage. No matter how fast or hard the heart can beat, its never good enough in the presence of Guilt. Guilt chips away at a being until its a mess of bodily fluid sitting on the floor of someone’s room. The heart can never escape its ultimate demise: a wrong decision or impulse being the catalyst for suffering. Guilt is one of the most dangerous emotions: It squeezes, and tugs, disappoints, and is the most extreme.

      It kills.

      Normally, when one is in the presence of Guilt, one would choose to ignore it. Turning a cheek, a person would walk in another direction, never daring to look back, but the more the person walks, the more ferocious Guilt’s anger become. As its hunger grows, so does its being. It overshadows all in its presence, mainly feeding off of their fear and anguish: their sadness making it all worth while for the emotion. Others try blasting music in order to calm themselves down, but like a virus, Guilt has evolved: no matter how hard one tries to escape it, he or she never gets far enough in time. Even the most advanced of hiding spots is like a glowing sign, pointing and screaming “Here I am!” for the emotion. No, guilt isn’t an emotion.

      It’s an animal.

      Only the brave stand their ground, looking Guilt in the face. As it bares its fangs and claws, only the strong take another step closer. The brave grab Guilt by its fangs and toss it at it’s side, attacking it until it shrinks and disappears, dissolving completely. Only the brave and strong can over power Guilt, for only they discover Guilt’s one and only weakness.

      Acceptance.

      When someone accepts their fault for what it is, only then can they overpower Guilt’s magnitude of force and fear. Only then can an individual correct a wrong: making things right whether it be with a relative, friend, teacher, student, child, adult, coworker, or boss.

      Only the strong and brave can overpower Guilt and make it disappear.

      Aaron took a deep breath and looked Grace in the eyes.

      “I’m sorry,” he whispered.

      Gripping on to the table as if it was his source of strength, he scratched at it’s underside, grimacing as he touches something that he assumes to be nothing other than week’s old chewing gum.

      “Why are you sorry?” Grace asked.

      She blinked as confusion appeared on her face, cocking her head to the side, brushing a strand of hair out of her eyes as she leaned forward on to the cloaked table, muttering, “You haven’t done anything wrong.”

      “That’s because I haven’t told you something very, very important.”

      “What is it?”

      “It’s kind of long: It’s this dream I dreamt about a month ago. Lately, all these dreams I’ve been having have started coming true, and there’s nothing I can do to stop them. I guess I’m some kind of prophet.”

      “I’ve got time,” Grace smiled shyly. curling a strand of her straight, raven hair around her finger.

      “Promise me something first.”

      “What? Anything.” Grace tucked the strand behind her ear.

      “Promise me that you won’t hate me for doing this.”

***

      Gripping onto a small, but powerful, steel dagger, Aaron walked his way through the stone chamber. The light from blue-flamed torches that lined themselves along the tan and red dyed stone patterns highlighted the cuts and scars on his face. His left eye was a deep purple, swollen shut as he limped. His skin tight, white clothing were torn apart: the fringes burnt off. His legs were bright red, and yellow pus oozed out of some shiny, bright red puffs of dead skin. Every step he took made him cry out in pain, but he only held his dagger tighter.

      He kept going.

      Not looking back, he pressed one of his bleeding hands to the wooden and brass door in front of him, pushing as hard as his strength would let him, opening the door with a loud creak, brandishing his weapon in front of him as his life depended on it.

      Engraved on the blade of the dagger was the word ‘Excelsior,’ though one could hardly read it. The weapon was matted with dried blood, though the rims of the metal were once outlined with sapphire. The hilt had a dark blue tint, and the power that emanated from the object only helped him achieve greatness with each flick of his wrist.

      Like a desk, the dagger has seen many things in its life. It had met and tangoed with blood ever since its creation in the sixteen-hundreds. The sticky, oozing crimson was a part of the dagger’s soul, being its true source of power. The sapphire was enchanted by a smither with knowledge of the art of magic. Whenever a droplet of blood touched the blue, part of the soul from the being whose blood it belonged to was drawn into the weapon, charging it with abilities. If it even touched blood, its speed increased so that it could meet more skin, allowing the blade to fly and dance, helping its owner become a better fighter. It has seen and heard many men, and sometimes women, meet an early death. The dagger was proud. Any who touched its tip died within seconds. It has tasted smoke on its tongue, and it loved every second of having a chance to show its strength.

      Creeping along the wall, Aaron limped silently as he entered another chamber, though this one was different from the one before. It had no light at all; completely encased in darkness. The only thing he heard was the sound of broken and empty cries, screaming for aid. Crouching down, he crawled towards the whimpers, cutting the leather bindings that held the girl before him, pulling her broken, bleeding body into his arms.

      “Grace?” He whispered. “Are you alright? What happened? You passed out right in front of me and then you disappeared! When I blinked, suddenly I was transported to that field I told you about earlier.”

      “Y-yeah,” she whimpered. “I’m doing fine. He hasn’t touched or hurt me yet.”

      “Then why are you covered in bruises and cuts?”

      “I... I tripped.”

      “Come on. We’re getting out of here.”

      “You’re not going anywhere,” came a deep, rumbling roar.

Turning his head towards the voice, Aaron his stood frozen at his spot, shaking as he dry swallowed, staring at the creature in front of him. It’s skin was pale, green, and blue, rotting away around chunks of torn skin and dried blood. There was a gash on it’s face, splitting his lip so that the left side of his mouth was rendered immobile. The only thing he wore was a crimson sash around his hips. A bronze and silver crown covered his dirtied, matted charcoal hair. Small horns stuck up on the top of his head, though they were barely visible because of the mess of hair atop his head.

      “What... What the bloody hell are you?” Aaron stumbled, falling back as he gripped his weapon tightly, holding it out in front of him in a warning matter as he stood protectively over the raven haired girl behind him.

      The being only smirked and said the following words:

      “I am her father, Damien, and I am the ruler of Hell.”

      “What the hell are you effing talking about?” Aaron yelped, grinding his teeth together as his hand shook, glaring at the being in front of him. “I thought Satan was Hell’s King!”

      Laughing and shaking his head, Damien crossed his arms and smirked, rolling his eyes and growling, “Satan doesn’t have a body; He only has a psyche. He exists, but he doesn’t have his own form. For example, he needs to find a vessel to possess, or control. Anyone with the blood of my ancestors is liable for the job. My family’s fair bloodline is the most powerful and demonic in all of Hell. You can kind of think of us as royalty, since we were chosen to serve him. You see, my family doesn’t own the Tarnished Crown: We are the Tarnished Crown.”

      “What are you talking about? A Tarnished Crown? I’ve never heard of it in my entire life! You’re insane!”

      “I... I understand what he’s talking about,” Grace whispered, trembling as she clung onto Aaron’s arm.

      She was hiding her face with her strands of hair, shielding herself from the resentful eyes of her father once again. Biting her lip, Grace felt her heart break into thousands of irreparable shards of glass as she witnessed Aaron’s distress, breaking as she fought her inner mental war about her own identity, and even her destiny.

      She was losing, and she knew it.

      She was terrified, and there was nothing she could do to stop it.

      If only Aaron knew.

      “It was a bedtime story that was told to both my sister and I as children. It was a story of a young girl with magical abilities. It was a beautiful story of strength and courage, being a story of redemption and flames.”

***

      A young girl bearing a strong, yet light, ebony broadsword scrambled her way through the woods, leaping over small creeks and tufts of grass. Keeping her face hidden with the hood of her black and red cloak, she sprinted towards the fiery pit of souls. Moans and groans of the deceased and haunted could be heard for miles upon miles of grassland and mountain ranges, but only the gifted had the ability to notice.

      Only the gifted were chosen to rule over paradise.

      Taking a glass vial of Holy Water out of her small, leather satchel, she poured a couple of drops into the pit, laughing maniacally as shrieks of pain and torture flooded her ears, giving her a sense of euphoria, even ecstasy. Pocketing the vial away once again, she giggled as one droplet clung to her skin, burning herself as if the liquid was acid, or liquid napalm.

Not even hesitating, the child leapt into the pit, not noticing as her body transformed into one of a young adult. As the flames tickled and licked her skin, her body began to glow a light red, showing the deep and hidden power that emanates from her soul. Well, what’s left of it anyway.

      Landing on a small cliff, she rolled until she was sitting on the charred, ashen remains of bone and gravel. Stretching and sitting up, grabbing the hilt of her weapon, she watched eagerly as souls were being torn apart by hellhounds, not caring if her laughter was heard by the beings around her. Standing and heading towards a cave after she got bored, she yawned as she entered the stone cavern. It was the only place that withheld the last source of sanity that was left in the physical plane called Earth.

      The small, blue light flickered and flew across the room, never staying in one spot for long. The reflecting, water ridden stone walls of the cave gave any who entered the sanctuary a sense of unease and disloyalty,  tarnishing any sense of righteousness, if there was any left to begin with. Closing her eyes, the girl, now woman, gripped onto her weapon, and when the time was right, slashed it in front of her body. Grinning as she heard a loud, hissing sound, she opened her eyes and laughed as she saw the blue light twitch and squirm as if begging for life. It was split in two, but held together by a single thread. Taking her hand, she grabbed the light thread and tugged, snapping the last connection of life the light contained.

She closed her eyes and relaxed.

      "The end has finally come. There will be no more torture or depression. Finally, there will be happiness."

***

      "Wait... Wait a second. You're telling me that you're destined to be some kind of monster or something?"

      "No! No! That's not what I'm saying at all!"

      On her knees, Grace held herself as she sobbed, scratching at her blood-clad arms as she shook: trembling. Keeping her eyes shut, she cried harder as she pulled away from the two others in the room, desperately wanting to be alone within her own sanctuary. To her, the innermost safest place within the world was her mind, though some said it may be desecrated.

      "I am the child of the story and the child of the prophecy. I am one tarnished crown, for there is a set. Any being who can be a vessel to Satan is a tarnished crown. I don't want to be a monster, Aaron! I don't want to destroy humanity's last bit of hope!"

      "It’s too late."

Part Four

      “What do you mean, ‘It’s too late?’ It’s never too late! What the hell is wrong with you? You’re insane! You’re all insane! Grace is too sweet, too kind to become one of these ‘vessel’ things!” Aaron cried, shaking slightly as he held Grace as tight as he could, cradling her crying body against his own, trying to offer any sense of protection that he could. All he wanted was for her to feel safe and happy, something that he believed she'd never felt before.

      Laughing, Damien took a step forward, smirking as he tore the dagger out of Aaron’s grasp. Clutching onto it, he willed for the metal to melt in his hand, letting the glowing goop flow down his hand and drip onto the blood stained, stone flooring below. Drying off his hands on his scrap of rags called clothing, he crouched down and looked into Aaron’s eyes, staring as deeply as he could as his eyes started to glow a bright yellow, causing Aaron’s to magically do the same.

      From it’s spot on the floor, the liquid dagger watched sadly as his master was being entranced by the demonic man before him. Never has the dagger ever felt this helpless, this defenseless, in all of its existence. The power it once held was taken away, stolen by the demonic presence which shadowed the room. It was crushed with deafening pressure, causing the dagger to only hear a sharp ringing. It had to resort to lip reading to find out what was going on: to find out what would become of his master.

      "Step away from my daughter and let sin flow into the very depths of your soul. Let sin take over your thoughts. Let sin become who you are. You will never get away from me, even in death. You will fall from grace. You will become a fallen angel, but you will love every second of it, you disgusting, sin ridden, piece of filth. You will become just like me, if not worse. Let yourself become evil. Lose all your knowledge of love. Lose your sense of protecting. You can protect no one if you can not protect yourself."

      Aaron was the dagger’s favorite master. He wasn’t blood thirsty or corrupted like all its other masters. Aaron was different, gentle and caring, and that’s why the dagger felt so close to his master. Truthfully, the dagger’s creator, the smither from the sixteen-hundreds, only created the dagger to be used as a source of defense. The dagger was never meant to draw the first blood, or to sneakily stab enemies or ex-friends in the back. The dagger was never meant to be a monster.

The dagger was created to save people, but it couldn't save his master.

      Not this time.

      Its master couldn’t even save himself.

      The dagger watched as Aaron fell to his knees, crying out in pain.

      The dagger watched as he clutched his ears and screamed at the top of his lungs, begging for mercy as he heard the threats the demon screamed, knowing every word directed at his daughter.

      The dagger watched as the demon laughed, and as his daughter sobbed brokenly, begging for her father to stop hurting her beloved.

      The dagger watched as the demon yelled, "Join me then! Become one with your destiny! Become the monster you were meant to be!"

      The dagger watched as the girl finally agreed, feeling grief as he watched the hollow tears stream off of her face. The diamonds landed unseen on the tainted ground before, never being seen again.

As the girl's body went up in flames, she fell to the ground and laid in the fetal position, not even crying out in pain. It was as if the flames were caressing her skin, moving oh so gently as they twirled around her body's crevices and joints, welcoming her warmly and lovingly. As the red-orange flames became a blue-green, the girl slowly opened her blood red eyes, looking over at the boy she fell in love with.

      It was at this moment that the dagger finally realized the feelings his master and the girl shared for each other.

The love they shared was illegal and even forbidden. An angel and a demon could never embrace each other in their arms with affection, but it watched as they both cried and held each other. The angel wrapped his arms around the demon's black bat wings, sobbing and cradling her against his wounded body, neither of them caring as they stained each other with their own blood.

      As the angel bled gold, the demon that he fell in love with bled black. As the colors mixed, the room began to glow an electric blue, but neither of them cared as the walls growled and thundered. They didn’t even notice the lightning bolts that lit up the world above them. Brushing their lips together in a gentle, sweet kiss, Aaron’s eyes widened as he was pulled away by an unseen force, screaming as he was brought to his knees, unknowingly clasping his hands together behind his back as if he was being arrested.

      All he heard was a deep, resonating cracking and tearing sound.

      All he felt was searing pain as a weight was lifted off of his shoulders.

      All he saw were feathers surrounding him.

      His once white and silver-tipped feathers were black now, slowly being burnt away by the holiest of fires. He hugged his knees, sobbing as he shot the demon's father a glare, cursing out all the rage and emptiness he felt inside. The dagger was shocked as he witnessed his master's fall from grace.

      Never had it seen such pent up anger being released all at once.

      Never had it seen such beautiful, tarnished crowns.

      As Grace stood, she shook as she walked up to her father, glaring and looking him in his stone cold eyes, never wanting to hurt him so badly in her entire life. She wanted to get revenge. She wanted him to suffer for all the times he hurt her, and for all the times he made her and her sister cry. He deserved to suffer for breaking her, and for breaking her one and only true love.

      She could feel the rage and anger pulsing through her veins.

      She could feel the wrath taking over her senses.

      She could feel the peering eyes of invisible beings watching with a curious interest: poking and prodding at her soul with their claws, wanting to find out how powerful she really was.

      She was holding back, and the demon in front of her knew so. Chuckling, he caressed his daughter's cheek before placing a surprisingly gentle kiss to her neck, which earned him a shiver and a panicked look from the girl beneath him.

Never had her father ever felt more powerful. He knew his daughter was strong enough to defeat him, but he also knew that she could never stand up and hurt him. She was different: unlike all the other relatives in her bloodline.

He knew that she could never hurt anyone.

      But all monsters become evil in the end. Even the outcasts.

***

      Taking a sip of her water, Grace’s eyes were wide and terrified. Her hand shook as she carefully placed the cup back down on the table, for once taking a brave breath, looking into Aaron’s eyes, asking, “So... So that is our fate? This is our so called destinies? For me to become a monster, and for you to fall from grace? To become a fallen angel?”

Nodding sadly, Aaron kept looking into her eyes. “Yes, I’m afraid that it is. I’m really sorry: you know that, right?”

      “It’s not fair!” She yelled, accidentally earning them a few confused and concerned glances from the other people in the restaurant, but they all quickly looked away and resumed their meals and their current conversations. “Why don’t we write our own destinies? We don't need to walk down that road! We can stop this all from happening! I know it! We can-”

      “Stop. Stop talking,” Aaron shook, feeling tears stream down his face, standing up and reaching into his back pocket, trembling. “I’m sorry for doing this. I really am. I love you, and I’m so, so sorry. I just can't let you ruin me.”

      “What are you doing? What are you-” She cried out, jumping up as she trembled, gripping on to the table. “Don’t scare me like that!”

      Looking into her eyes, he whispered one last loving word before thrusting his dagger into her chest, twisting it into her heart. Muttering an incantation in Latin, he closed his eyes as she screamed, dissipating into a bright white light. Slowly opening his eyes when he deemed it safe, he fell to his knees as he sobbed, hiding his face in his hands.

      “I’m sorry, but I can't let you destroy the world. I can’t let you start the apocalypse.”