"I don’t sleep. My mind has the scary capability of being dark and demented." The young voice slipped through the crack of the darkness that consumed the library. Nobody was around, yet Amara could hear a response when she spoke. “You are afraid of your dreams?” Not bothering to look in the direction of where the voice had come from, Amara closed her eyes for several seconds as she tried to hide from the response that was trembling at her lips. As she tilted her head down, her long slightly curled brown hair draped over her shoulders and covered her small, carefully framed face. There was a sense of harmony found in this child's ongoing battle deep inside the confines of her mind. It had been a while since Amara had human contact, possibly months now since she had disregarded her previous guardian. This wasn’t because she feared those of equal life as her, but was more so because she was waiting for the right person. The right energy. Slowly opened her eyes, Amara peered into the darkness, her voice stronger than before. "Yes. I am afraid of what hides deep within."
Lifting her head, Amara rose to her feet and as her body became fully extended in an upright standing position, all the candles of the room lit up. The once dark room now poured with glorious light. Just as Amara had expected, the voices were coming from inside her mind for there was no one around. Spinning on her toes, she directed her body to one of the large book shelves. The selection of books was truly endless here, and despite the fact that Amara was still alone, she felt comfort in in the company of the great adventures each story held.The words on each page of the books lit up with glorious light as the adventures of the books spiraled the world around her. Amara could find herself spending hours reading, consumed by the events unfolding with each carefully thought out plot. Even when she forced herself to put the book aside, she craved to know more, craved to understand the characters internal conflict with each flip of the delicate page. To understand the meaning behind their actions, and to understand how their decisions made others fall apart or be constructed. But it wasn’t always the protagonist that caught Amara’s attention. More times than not, it was the antagonist that caught Amara’s attention the most. The individual who actively would struggle for their own definition of what is meant to be right in this world. The one that everyone only sees for what they have become, but not for what they once were. One day Amara would have a story of her own, a story of what this world truly is and how it had transformed her. And in this story, Amara knew she herself would be the antagonist.
After carefully pulling on the spine of one of the books neatly placed on the shelf, Amara tucked it in her arm. There was a surreal sensation of excitement that coursed through the young girl as she spun her body around and darted towards the nearest table in sight. Dropping the book down, Amara let out a cough as some dust flew from off the elderly table. First, she waved her hand in the air to disperse the linger dust, then she directed her attention back towards the room before her. Brushing her fingertips over the cover of the obviously neglected book, Amara read the title softly out loud. "Macbeth." Looking up from the book, Amara sensed the presence of another approaching, and this time is wasn’t just the presence of those who lingered in her mind. Those who lingered in her mind came and left as they pleased, leaving no evidence of their true existence. While the presence of the living, those who walked the Earth in a similar manner as Amara left a different imprint in the air. Those of the living came and left as they pleased, but the sensations of ambition and life were different than those that only Amara could here. The foot steps echoed from the entrance first, slowly lingering closer to whereabouts of Amara. In most occasions, Amara would seek a hiding spot and watch the story from afar, but this time Amara decided this was her opportunity to play part in the story unraveling on this Island. It was Amara’s turn to be heard and known. A small smile lingered upon her lips as she spoke this time, quoting the book she had drawn, and looking out into the empty air. "By the pricking of my thumbs, Something wicked this way comes."
Post by Ophelia Moreno on Apr 25, 2016 3:06:04 GMT -5
Everyone deserves a chance to fly.
The smell of ash was almost overwhelming to Ophelia's nose. The thick smoke of the previous town soaked into her clothes, she hadn't bothered to change after the mishap that had occurred at her last location. Unfortunately due to her own doings she doubted that many would be able to come after her for what she had done. Although as nature would have it, she was beginning to grow into her powers, accidents still happened especially without anyone to guide her on the path of control. For eight years now Ophelia had been on a never-ending hunt, lead after lead taking her all over the world, she hoped would eventually take her to the only familiar she had left.
Her most recent lead had turned up empty, showing up in the form a deserted carnival. It seemed like a chapter out of a horror film, the big top still stood tall like the show had only stepped out for a moment. The grounds were void of life despite the various rides and attractions still playing their customary carnival music and brightly lit decorations that filled the near acre of roped off land. Several of her trails ran cold as the traveling carnival often picked up and moved locations before she had the chance to catch up. More often than not when the trail ran cold she usually found herself at a local bar, that's usually where the most information could be found, not to mention the most recreation.
It was in Paris at a more upscale joint that Ophelia walked into that a strange man waved her over. He was a strange fellow, dressed in a suit and tie, just slightly overdressed for the usual crowd but dismissible as the drinks found their way into the hands of their owners. He had a way about him that was confidence but not cocky. Typically she would walk away but something about this man told her he had answers. As she approached the empty seat the man held up his glass, "Having champagne, would you like some?" His charm was almost overwhelming but he knew what she was after before she had even gotten a chance to speak. It seemed almost like he had been expecting her.
He spoke of a safe haven for talented individuals, "Promise Island, ever heard of it?" a place they could be free to be themselves and live as they pleased. Ophelia often found herself in awkward situations with strange men in strange places but this by far was the strangest she had encountered. Deciding to take his fancy she stayed and partook in the festivities. He spoke a lot, "You're a pretty thing aren't you? You seem like the kind of girl with a mission. I like a girl with a good drive," but then again, the men she dealt with always spoke one way or another. Secrets and information weren't free, but this man was different, he was worldly but not from around here. Towards the end of her night she got up to use the restroom, telling herself in the mirror that she had finally saved up the courage to ask the man how he knew so much. However when she returned he was gone, the bartender having no recollection of anyone that had stood out of place, the only trace of him that remained was a note on a napkin with coordinates signed with a cursive uppercase G.
When she had woken the next morning something told her to find this place. It made since that her old friends might have found their way there. Although the physical war between humanity and supernatural had ended, she could feel that the spirits of nature remained uneasy. Animosity didn't just disappear overnight, so why wouldn't the supernatural beings seek haven in a place they would not be judged. Deciding on a whim to take the strange man's advice, Ophelia sought out the coordinates on the napkin. When she arrived the island was everything as he had described it would be. While her natural instincts pointed her in the direction of the quaint little tavern, some other force be it spirits of natures or some sort of charm the strange man at the bar had put on her, lead her towards the towns public library.
Based on the exterior of the building she could tell that it had seen it's fair share of trials and tribulations, being that it seemed to be much older in comparison to the new construction that surrounded it. Pushing the wide mahogany doors open, Ophelia couldn't help but inhale the sweet smell of aging paper and dust. Deciding to explore the isles of books that extended from wall to wall, ceiling to ceiling, Ophelia naturally found herself in the section of books written by the author that inspired her own name. She reached for the purple spine dawned in an ornate golden spirals along the creases to accent the text. Without ever touching the spine itself, she motioned her hands to suspend the book in front of her and cracked the book open.
Walking aimlessly towards the table and chairs that sat in the center of this particular section, Ophelia had her nose so deeply buried in the book that the voice that broke the silence startled her so. With her focus broken, the book fell to the ground with a great thud followed by a rising cloud of dust. Tilting her head and blushing slightly, Ophelia glanced around the room before settling her gaze on the small girl that sat at the table, "Well hello there... I didn't see you. What brings you to an old smelly library?" Realizing the judgement in her statement, she felt bad for the girl, clearly this girl had more purpose in being here than she did herself. "My name is Ophelia,"she smirked to the only audience in the room after catching a peak a the girls choice of title, "Macbeth, one of my favorites, tales of witches and strange prophecies. I'm new to this island searching for an old friend, what brings you here?" She sensed the awkwardness in her conversation as she hadn't spoken with a child in many years, she found it was much easier pulling information from all to willing men and women who sought out a more physical satisfaction. Shaking her head just slightly to herself, while she waited for the girl's response, Ophelia's mind wandered to the origins of what had brought her to this island.
Which time she chanted snatches of old lauds, As one incapable of her own distress
A curiosity coursed through Amara as she watched the new individual approaching. A new person, with an entirely new story that Amara had yet to hear. This world around Amara became fuzzy as her natural instinct kicked in to observe this new comer and detect the possible threats they may hold. Looking back at the woman who had began speaking, Amara remained silent at first as the woman spoke to her as you would a young child. She knew she was young in appearance, but she knew for a fact that she was neither a moron, nor an infant. Amara had only been an infant once in her lifetime, and she never could go back to such years. While keeping a thoughtful glance with the woman, Amara examined the stance, and tone of the woman. She was strong, but not as much in the physical manner as much at the mental. At least, that is what conclusion mere observation led Amara to believe. A small uncertain smirk curled across Amara’s lips as she finally spoke up.”False face must hide what false heart doth know.” Slowly closing the book that had been laid open in front of her, Amara barely ran her fingers of the distressed cover. “Don’t treat me like a fragile infant, I have seen enough of this world to be stronger that most of my generation. They are fools for allowing such glimmers of hope linger in their eyes while the world becomes corrupt at its core.” While the rest of the world frolicked in serendipity, Amara knew better than to expect a beneficial series of events. Nothing in this world came without a price, and while some things costed more than others, anything could be bargained.And anything could also be stolen. Sometimes it merely took a thousand lies and good disguise to walk away from the blood that stained towns with everything you could ever ask for, but never wanted.
“Oh my, how wifty of me. I nearly forgot. I am Amara.” Making her way around the table, Amara approached the woman with a gentle smile molded upon her childsh face.While it was obvious that she couldn’t be any older than seven, her words told a different story about her experiences in the world.Once finishing her stroll around the table, Amara stopped in front of the woman, her long hair falling to rest over her small framed shoulders. Bringing her arms in front of her body, her hands barely connected, linking at the fingertips. She had a calm demeanor as she faced the woman in silence for several more seconds to give her the opportunity to respond to all that she had mentioned merely seconds ago. The eerie air of the library only seemed to thicken at the mention of the womans direct comments of the establishment they know stood within. “I prefer it here, a thousand stories, and not a single one is wrong. But at the same time, not a single one is of innocent intent.” Looking over towards the book shelf, Amara smiled carefully to herself as she recalled the dozens of stories she had read over the time period of mere days.
“Well it seems the island has become a beaker of sorts. A calling to those with a destiny paved out for them. The island works as coalesce...you know, you unite those of similar yellow brick roads before them… Which leads me to the conclusion, you are indeed a wicken.” Returning MacBeth to the shelves, Amara now searched for another book, this one was a bit more familiar in todays’ world. Skipping back over towards the table, Amara plopped the book upon the table and watched as little speckle of dust danced into the poorly lit air. In the front, on the right hand side was the image of a corn stalk with a slightly confused scarecrow dangling from the top. Sitting atop the corn stalk next to the scarecrow was a eerie crow with a sly like grin forming at his beak. The image was simple, as were the words printed nearly beside it. While the wording was beginning to become weary due to the mere age of the book, it could still be read clearly. “Wizard of Oz” Amara read out-loud before sliding the book over towards Ophilia. “Another interesting tale of a world not much different than our own. One where witches are judged based off their kittle persona or their contributions to the world.” Pushing the book slightly aside, Amara went back to the shelf and without hesitation drew another book from the shelves. Managing them over towards the table, she laid it out beside The Wizard of Oz.
The next book she ran her fingers over was a 1894 original of ‘Alice’s Adventures in Wonderland’. The cover was in good condition for it’s age and the picture told a talk of a young girl with partially red tea dress being swarmed by what seemed a deck of card. While the two books laid out side by side seemed to have nothing in common except their worldwide known success, there was more to each story than just that. “They are all of a another world. A world of great opportunity, but a world that is not controlled with mere good thoughts and positive actions.” Pressing her lips together, Amara now glanced back up at the woman who went by Ophilia. “Why have you really come here.”
Post by Ophelia Moreno on Jun 4, 2016 1:51:53 GMT -5
Everyone deserves a chance to fly.
The child before her was much more than that of her flesh, revealing an old soul beneath the curtain of her childhood. Ophelia was relieved at the least, she didn’t deal with children much these days. Forced herself to grow up all too quickly, it seemed to be a recurring theme in the supernatural history these days. “Amara,” she repeated the name, not one she had come across before, “I have to say I’m impressed. A little relieved too.” A slight blush rose to her cheeks as she expressed her thoughts to the seven-year-old girl. She was quite insightful for her age, and it became clear to Ophelia rather quickly that she was wise beyond her years; most likely beyond Ophelia’s own knowledge.
In that moment the once harmless little girl seemed much more threatening. The intensity in her eyes as she pointed out the intentions of the characters raised several questions regarding her presence here and the girls own purpose. She remained silent trying her best to read the girl, yet she wasn’t used to dealing with children let alone ones with minds of wise adults. To her surprise the girl had no trouble reading into her own character. Stepping back a few paces, Ophelia allowed her puzzled emotions reflect on surface of her face much like the words on the pages of the opened books before them. “How is it you’ve come to that conclusion, yet I can’t even begin to understand what you could possibly be?” Scanning the room for any clues, Ophelia was still unable to draw any inclination of what the girl was or why she was here. “Clearly you’re of some sort of supernatural descent, the energy in this island is a very special kind that much I can sense."
Amara was quick to grab another storybook containing witches; one Ophelia wasn’t particularly fond of. The lies that were contained in the words on the pages of that book reflected poorly of her kind, a made up propaganda to scare the common people from the rituals of her kind. The small child seemed to be casually threatening her, but how? What means did this girl have to be so blunt with her. Narrowing her eyes slightly to the girl, Ophelia began to wonder if the girl was working with the strange man she had met at the bar. Raising an eyebrow, Ophelia crossed her arms before speaking in a hushed tone, “So you know him then. This man,” she fumbled in her pocket for the napkin with the cursive G and held it out to the girl, “He sent me here, what do you want with me?”
With focused eyes, but still a calm composure, Amara pushed the books slightly to the side before fixating her vision on the woman in front of her. “No conclusions, merely analyzing the minor details that others seem to miss.Focusing on the variables rather than the control in this little experiment. “ Smiling softly, Amara barely nodded her head. Every words she spoke, every details she gave out to the woman, it was all a part of the experiment, and this woman, Ophelia, was the specimen. Stacking the books upon her arms, Amara let out a soft sigh as the books weighed against her arms. Stumbling towards the book shelves of origin, Amara carefully slid them back into their proper placement. “See, the man you seek is also the man I seek to find. We don’t work as allies. I know much of him, but he knows absolutely nothing off my existence...Yet.” After returning the final boo, Amara looked back towards the woman who she was slowly becoming more and more comfortable with. “Currently there is no true road map that explains which of us is the antagonist, I guess it would vary from story to story. But, what I can tell you is I will be his lorn. I will be Greeds undoing.”
Walking back up to the woman, Amara allowed her arms to now rest at her sides as she continued to study the woman's facial expressions. More times than not, Amara couldn’t even read herself as a character. Everyone around her could be related to a story, a famous twisted plot of some sort...But she had never been capable of classifying herself. “But you see, in all of this planning and swift designing, there is still something missing. A lucuna to my plan....” Pressing her lips tightly against one another, the young girl fell quiet for several seconds as she allowed her thoughts to catch up with her. “I should slow down..Forgive my rushing thoughts. The man you came in contact with is Baltsaros, he is Greed of the Se7en sins. A band of demons who seeks out particular traits for their own selfish desires and destruction. They sound very similar to everyone else, am I correct?” Walking over towards the woman, Amara tipped her head and motioned for the woman to follow. Walking in the direction of a different selection of books, Amara remained silent at first. “You came here seeking information on your coven, and I have their entire selection up for reading along with information on various offspring that are still alive to this day...That is, if you will help me.”
Pressing her hands on the wall behind her, several carving began lightning up with golden beam. The beam danced over the carving on the wall for several seconds until finally a secret passage opened up. Taking several steps inside, Amara invited the woman to follow her inside. “I am a Phoenix, they are mostly unheard of in todays twisted world.” Leaving it at that, Amara stepped aside to allow the woman access to all the books and knowledge she desired. Knowledge was Key. To know more meant you could remain a step ahead. To remain a step ahead meant that you had plenty of time to create a Plan A, B, C all the way to Z. Very rarely did Amara allow the chance for herself to be caught off guard, meaning she wouldn’t allow anyone she considered an ally to be caught off guard either..
Post by Ophelia Moreno on Jul 8, 2016 16:53:32 GMT -5
REMEMBER THIS: NOTHING IS WRITTEN IN THE STARS
NOT THESE STARS, NOR ANY OTHERS
NO ONE CONTROLS YOUR DESTINY
Ophelia’s heart began to pound, perhaps she had been wrong to follow the strange mans suggestion, perhaps he had merely set a trap for her in the form of this child. Yet as the girl spoke on her curiosity got the better of her. She had spent the majority of her life now searching for clues and keeping an ear open for the unknown world she sought after. Now it seemed that this girl knew more about the strange character she’d only met briefly in a bar. It was all rather unsettling and she wasn’t quite sure what to think.
Ophelia did her best to hide the plethora of emotions she couldn’t explain from the girl, listening carefully to every encrypted word that escape her doll like lips. “You speak of greed as though it is some sort of embodiment, that greed is actually a he and living amongst us?” Tilting her head Ophelia wasn’t sure if she should run as far as she could from the girl, certainly there was some sort of insanity lurking in her, but she knew better than to question her. Amara held much more understanding and power than anyone might guess, Ophelia could sense that now. Something in this girl held a great deal of energy, a fiery essence that seemed to fuel her every move. Ophelia hadn’t come across anyone like her containing that kind of energy in her lifetime.
She decided to remain quiet, letting Amara finish her scattered thoughts. As the girl went on to explain one of the strangest stories she had ever heard, Ophelia couldn’t help but sense truth in her words. Maybe Amara wasn’t so bad, there was a sense of understanding to her and Ophelia was starting to grow rather fond of her blunt disturbing nature. Amara was driven, by what Ophelia was not sure, but the passion hidden in her motives, and truth in the words she spoke were not to be underestimated.
Without much thought, Ophelia followed Amara into another section of the library that seemed untouched, many of the bindings covered with dust that had settled in the air around them. There was a strange energy here, coursing through a particular area in the shelves so much so that she almost missed what Amara said next, “How did you know what I…” the girl now had her undivided attention, “You know of them then? The Rioz boys?” Her eyes filled with a reserved excitement, there was so much more that Ophelia needed to know, so much information that was simply lost to her, but Amara seemed to hold the answers she needed. This man demon she spoke of that went by the name of Baltsaros had an appeal to it, and Amara claimed to need her help. Ophelia questioned what a mere witch like herself could be of use to the unseeingly powerful little girl against a band of powerful demons. However this much she knew, Amara was not to be miscalculated. It was her generosity towards a mere stranger that gave Ophelia what she needed to invest an ounce of trust in her.
Following behind the girl, Ophelia kept a sharp eye on what she could see ahead of the girl. Amara did not seem like the type to be thrown off by much, every step as calculated as her next, but Ophelia liked to think she did her best to be the same. Her abilities had certainly gotten her into this mess, but it was her abilities that would get her out of the countless numbers of bad situations she found herself in. She was stronger than she liked to believe, the power of her coven, the energy they possessed had been passed down to her when they died their untimely death. Ophelia now held the power of a generation of witches coursing through her blood, she would not go down without a fight if need be. As they reached the top of the mysterious staircase the view of thousands of grimoires lined the shelves before her, each calling for her touch as though her ancestors were calling directly to her. Ophelia was thankful that the girl had delivered on her end and decided to break their silence, “Well it’s pretty obvious that I’m a witch, I get the feeling you know much more about me than you’re letting on. I will help you… but I need to know why, what is all of this for?” She held her gaze into the girls eyes despite the energy that desperately called for her throughout the shelves, she needed to know just what she was getting herself into.