It all happened so fast, the images of her past life, her second chance, was slipping away from her with each chime of the box. The mallet hit to metal, clanging, chiming, signing, ringing as the images of his face played through smiles and tears and laughter and pain. He was so handsome. So smart, so sweet. It was evident in his eyes he was destined for her, as his smile had captured her soul, her heart. And as the images were pulled, the colors turned to grey, faces, expressions, memories fluttering like pages of a book. They had a child. They had a ring. One beautiful daughter who's laughter echoed around them like a phantom, until the images of her started to bleed and they faded away into nothing, disappearing with a scream. Then it stopped. There was one last image of him, his smile, his face so sweet, those eyes so warm and inviting, then it was pulled away at the last clang of the chimes, the image ripped from her mind. And she would no longer remember she had become Helena Rhyas again.
Like a pendulum swing, he moved past her. She could hear his foot steps moving across the wood floor. Another swing had her pulling her eyes up from the weight that held her. Her mouth was dry, the air was cold, and the room was dark. She found herself trembling, and when she moved, she felt her wrists restrained. Gasping, her breath cut across the dry air as she sought to move, pulling against the rope until it dug and burned into her flesh, panic pushed her from the heavy spell that fogged her mind and into this reality. But with another swing of the pendulum of the clock, the ticking of the hand, the pace of his steps, he was across the room again, this man who was so tall, so queer. She couldn't even see his face, he kept it masked in the side of the room that was draped in triangular cut of shadow.
"P-please," her words finally found her tongue as she moved again, bare feet scraping against the floor. "L-let go of me. I shouldn't be here."
It was those words that made the man turn, his face familiar, his blue eyes blazing from the shadows. Even his voice was familiar as he told her in a curdling tone, "Yes, you should. You belong here."
Her mouth dropped open, her eyes widening as she realized where she was. There was a familiar cage in the corner, a faint glowing light in it's center. She blinked. Tears cut at her eyes. The cage.... She remembered the cage. It contained her soul. And the man... He was the puppeteer, her master, the one who controlled her, had taken her in and claimed her as his own. And as he approached, she didn't flinch, but bared her teeth at him, spitting at him angrily for all she was worth.
"You!" her voice echoed, cutting like a thousand knives across the room. In a single motion, he moved upon her, the noise echoing in a thousand rushing beats. A hand was to her throat, choking her, and she gasped, unable to speak as he held her. But then his grip lightened, his hands smoothed down her neck, tracing over the golden heart necklace which glowed faintly, like the beating of a heart. She could even feel it, and as her chest heaved she looked down, following his hands to where the heart charm lay off a leather cuff bound around her neck. Her face contorted, twisting in confusion before she lifted her head up to him, her heart beating, nearly racing out of her chest.
"Yes, it is I, and I have waited too many years to find you," his voice was strangely soft, although raspy, as if he spoke any louder, his voice might crumble away like dust. He traced his curled fingers delicately down the side of her face, examining her and her beauty. "You took on another name."
She heard his tongue ticking, but after a time, he had grown silent and the only ticking was from that of the wooden clock. Her eyes moved around the room, noticing, just barely, the glint of light from beneath the door catching on string bound around the room. It was like a spiders web, though more chaotic and lacking any of the beauty a lady spider might weave. And as she looked down, the ropes on her wrist were gone, and only indents were visible from where the thin string was bound around her body, pressing into her skin. Her eyes traced across it, and she soon realized the string was all around her, all around the room, catching and lacing and binding off the walls, her arms, her wrists, her ankles, even her neck.. pretty much all over her body was looped in the invisible strings. Then into the darkness the ends stretched, and although the room was small, the shadows made it appear as if it stretched on into infinity.
It was then the strange man stepped forward, fingers lacing into a single string that lay before him. She raised her head, vision still heavy, as she was still awakening from her dream. It seemed he was caressing it delicately before his fist snatched around it and pulled hard. She let out a cry, the entire right side of her body snapping in that direction. Then he jerked it upwards, and her hand went with it, raising up into the air. His fingers moved, gently, guiding it and although she fought it, she felt her fingers uncurl and open, and slowly the man stepped forward, slipping his fingers into hers and holding her hand firm. His skin was cold against the warmth of her own skin, even clammy. Then he stepped back, drawing back the string from another hand. Her left side jolted forward, being pulled, commanded as she fell into his arms and he moved to embrace her, his lips crushing over hers until the air had been taken and she fell back into the dark.
The last thing she had heard was, "Welcome back, my little Scarlet Bird." Before her world melted away into hot darkness once again.
Several months later....
She was already back into her old habits. Though blood hadn't stained her clothing or weapons yet that day, there was still the memory of it as her weapons craved for more. She had been on the chase of a man her master implored her was wicked. He was a man sent to throw her off the trail, would get in her way of a higher purpose. This man was Maddox Rhyas. And despite having once been her husband, he meant nothing to her now, the memories taken from her as she tried and tried again to hunt him down. It was thought he was dead, but when his trail came up warm, and the proof was there that he was most certainly not, her master sent her out to find him.
"Bring him back or kill him. Which ever you'd like."
She smiled and leaned her cheek into his hand.
"But I do so love to kill," she purred, her eyes dancing in the dark.
But now it was raining, the water coming in sheets throughout the town. It wouldn't be hard to find him. The other damn assassins out to kill him were making about as much ruckus as a pack of hounds. But this was her kill. And she would not let those dogs get to him first. After all, she was mildly curious of this man, and catching fleeting glimpse of him as his figure would stumble through the moon light, she found herself intrigued. Even from a distance he was handsome. It would be fun to cut up his pretty face. But the 'hounds' had her annoyed, so she set up her metal string, and as the night went on, the chase progressing, slowly, one by one they fell, leaving behind a puddle of blood. Her fingers moved to clean off the sharp string. Because it was so thin, a simple clothe would do. Then she dropped the blood soaked clothe onto the severed body and moved onward. After all, it wasn't the first time she left a trail of men in pieces.
So as the men fell, the night grew more quiet, so that the only thing seeming to chase Bishop was the wild call of the wind, and the rain bleating against the side of the lean to. But then there it was. Her red leather boots crunching against the slick cobble stone as she walked past him. They were barely a breath away. Her eyes were tracing around, searching for him in silence. He might even have been able to spot her silhouette in the darkness, her cool eyes searching, looking, wanting....
She knew he was close by- the only thing to know was- just how close was he? She kept a firm hold upon her string, contemplating setting up a trap, and as she moved she stepped away from the pig's home and into the open moonlight, exposing herself for what she was, a woman decked out in red leather and feathers, a bustle trailing behind her, having been soaked in blood and smearing a trail of red in her wake.
