Rose's Thorns: The Wolf's Prophecy

22

Sylviana pov

A woman in her late twenties briskly walked down a long dark corridor with a stack of official-looking papers in her hands. She was wearing dark green emeralds along her neck, on her fingers, and in her ears. The gems sparkled with a strange intensity, that seemed to grow stronger which each step she took. Her feet never lingered, and her burning gaze never wavered. On a mission. She was on a mission, and only if you were in her thoughts could you tell the anxiety that coiled in her heart like a snake ready to strike. Calm and collected. All the shadows had to be calm and collected. Never show your fear. Shadows do not have fear. Only cold and ruthless emotions. Shadows only held these things close. But would she remain a shadow for long? No. Did she want to? No. But was she going to live long enough to change the way the shadow life has made her? Probably not.

Finally, the woman stopped, her blonde hair shining grey in the dim light. She was outside a heavy wooden door, that had a sickly green tint to it. A large, winged snake armored in green marbled rocks was engraved in the door, and if you stood long enough (which was not recommended) it looked like the Warepval, was ready to eat you alive.

The woman took a large breath, steadied her shaking fingers on the door, and before she could think otherwise, she stepped inside.

"I believe knocking is a thing, my dearest." A cold drawl rang out through the musty room she had come into. Without hesitation, the women threw the bundle of papers down on a dark metal desk. It was fairly difficult to see what was all in the room, but that's okay. She was used to the darkness. Years of being trained as a shadow let her become quite skilled in the dark. Plus, her infrared heat vision comes in handy. She could just make out a slightly purplish-pink body in the farthest corner of the room, behind the desk. He was not warm-blooded, but he was not completely reptilian. But oh, was his heart cold. Cold-blooded in mannerisms. She turned to the man in the room, and he propped his feet up on his desk. A thick cloud of sickly-sweet smoke came from the thick cigar between his lips, but that was one of the only light sources. The smoke twisted itself into the shape of a winged serpent, or a warepval, and wrapped itself around her shoulders. A false affection. A threat seemed more like the word. A threat. A warning that screamed Be careful your words, for I could end you before you can take a next breath.

"Well, won't you sit?" The man asked with a smile in his voice.

The woman laughed harshly and shook her head. A bold move. Like jumping over a flame in a long, trailing, non-flame-resistant dress. Or kissing a venomous cobra. Risky. Bold. Brave? Stupid. "No need, I won't be long." she peered at the man through thick eyelashes, wishing she could make out his face, but all she could see was the same purple figure. Damn the dark, and damn the snake. She thought of the thrill of seeing his face when she told him but knew that it very well might be the last thing she saw. And though she was once upon a time attracted to the killer, she now saw him for what he was. Ruthless. Insane. Frigid. An evil man. She did not want her final moments to be looking at the man. The dark was a bit more loving. A bit more comforting even. His pale hand reached towards the table, as he knocked ashes from his cigar. His thin fingers held many rings, all containing some poor souls' final breath, and the tears they cried in their final hours of torture. Sick. Sickening art. A thing of Beaty. He was a sadist, and he took pleasure in the trade of getting the information he needed to build his underground empire from the poisoned rats he called his army. On his middle finger, he held the same green jewels she had, only larger, and in the shape of a snake's fang. The sign of ownership. The rank of the Shadows.

She took a deep breath and drew her courage from the fire within. He bounced his foot, inviting her to begin.

"I don't think you're running things correctly."

"Oh? And how would you run it, Sylviana?"

"I wouldn't, in fact, I want nothing more to do with the business any longer. Millions of people, our people are dying. And for what? Revenge? Is it worth it? You don't care for the poor souls who pledged their life to you." She took a deep breath, the snake in her wanting to strike at the man, but knowing it was suicide. "I've cared for your sad revenge story, but I've had my fill. I took your side because of the diamond strength promises you whispered in my ear, but you have broken them. You've broken every one of them." Her voice cracked and she cursed herself for breaking. "My brother, my father, my mother. They are dead when you promised to treat them well. They were only a new fancy ring, weren't they?" The snake raised its head from its docile position, eyes narrowed. "You're probably wearing them now, as a collection, as a treasure, a trophy. You promised me. But you care not for the hurt, the pain, the sorrow. The result is what you want. Isn't it? All you care for is the result of a war you're causing." She saw his bejeweled hand tap impatiently on his knee, but she did not stop. "These people, they are being disposed of in your name, under your rule. So. So I have come to tell you that I am done. I want no part. No affiliation any longer." She swallowed. "You can kill me now, but it won't do you any good."

"No, no good killing you Sylvi." He said thoughtfully. He tapped his fingers and the shrill cries of the souls he held rang out. He took three of his rings off and held them individually up to the red glow of his cigar. "You were especially useful to me, Snake, and I won't forget it. You say I am cruel and unloving, but I am grateful. So, to show you that you are wrong, I will give you twelve hours. Twelve hours to hide. Twelve hours and you may just be another soul in a crystal on my finger." He held up the rings and they began to faintly glow white. The swirling mass inside seemed to grow restless. The man nodded his head in admiration and snapped his fingers. Suddenly the dark gloom seemed to jump to life, revealing a humanoid shape with red glowing dots for eyes. Shadows. The army of Rovax. Cold sharp fingers, like blades, seemed to grab at Sylviana from all sides, tearing at her emerald necklaces. They stripped her of her rank and all that was left were deep red welts where they had scratched and pulled. Her hair was disheveled, and she fought down the fear. They stood out, staring at her, faceless, but they had identities. They circled her, like starving wolves ready to kill. "Dear Sylvi." Rovax clicked his tongue. "See now, what you've done?" He got up from his desk but kept his face in the shadows. Sylviana was not afraid. She knew what she had done. She knew the consequences. He gently threw the 3 rings in the air, allowing them to catch the small amount of light.

"It seems only just that I give you these, as a warning. Remember what you have chosen, for soon, I will have far too many souls to carry on my hands, you will do fine as a necklace." He threw them to her- "your mother, father, brother" -and she thankfully caught them.

"Twelve hours"

Twelve hours.

Eleven hours and fifty-nine minutes.

She waited no longer. She was out the door, away from the shadows, and far gone.

Fifty-eight. How would she survive? How could she help end the destruction she had caused?

She shakily held the rings that contained her family. Her mother, 57 years old, with the most beautiful brown and silver hair. Her father, about to be 60, it would have been his birthday today. And her poor poor brother. Tricked into the life of a shadow man. His newly born children would never lay eyes on their father. For he, along with many others, were gone. Evaporated into nothing more than a faint white mist, that pulsated inside the crystal on the rings. They were only souls because they refused to be shadows. How could she repay the world for all the death and destruction she had helped happen? Well. She could start by getting somewhere safe. Rovax's war has not even begun yet, and yet the death toll has been mounting ever higher. She did not want to be one of those numbers. So much death. Despair. pain. So many souls, probably wondering why they are stuck in a crystal orb. A warepval, a shadow king, a trickster is to blame for it all.