Kyraila; a demigoddess from long ago. The daughter of Hecate, a powerful deity and master of magic. Kyraila had big shoes to fill, but her life was her own, and she knew that. She knew that she wanted to protect people, fight for them because someti...
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*October 8th, 2011*
Kyraila walked down the busy sidewalk of New York - mankind had come a long way in nearly Seventy years. Machines were used more, technology was more advanced, it took her by surprise at first. But she learned to adapt to the changing world around her.
Kyraila did a lot with her life, she stayed on as a SSR agent with Peggy, and helped her through tough times and was there for her. They worked effortlessly together, and were unshaken by what was thrown their way. The fights, and the sexism, but the ladies made it work in their favour. However, as the years passed and Peggy started to visibly age, Kyraila did not, she stayed the same glowing young features as she will always be. She had to charade an illusion spell, appearing to be aging with the people around her. Though she watched as her friends grew and became happy, married, had children, and even grandchildren. Kyraila was left to wonder about the life she had...
The reflection from the café window brought her out of her little daydream of the past. To her it was a blink of an eye, but to others it was a near full life. She raised the warm cup of coffee from the rounded table, bringing the white ceramic cup to her lightly painted lips. The warm liquid ran down her throat, filling her up with warmth and her veins with caffeine. Kyraila let the cup drop from her mouth as she swallowed the last little bit of coffee, before letting out a small satisfied sigh. She noticed the slightly pink lip stain on her cup, making herself smile at the stain.
"Another Kira?" A female voice came from in front, making Kyraila smile dim and look up from her seat.
"I shouldn't," she replied, knowing that she was on her second cup of the day. "But I shall," she remarked, as a chuckle escaped her lips for a mere moment. The waitress just laughed to herself, pouring the boiling hot coffee from the glass pot into her cup. The liquid flowed freely from the pot and straight into the cup, and not even a single drop was split onto the table as she finished pouring. Without a single word, the waitress moved from the table, and began to serve customers within the café. Kyraila leaned forward, wrapping her hands around her hot cup to keep her chilly hands warm - which did its job. Her eyes gazed over the New York road which was busy with taxis, personal cars. Still no hover cars as Howard promised, but Kyraila didn't need a hover car to fly.
The speed of the vehicles slowed due to the time of day, and New York was prone to traffic jams. But nevertheless Kyraila loved the city for many different reasons. In the reflection of the window, she noticed the television which was bolted onto a stand, hanging above the counter, for all to see. The colours were refracted and flipped, but Kyraila could make out it was the local news station.
"Turn it up," a elderly gentleman spoke, his voice strong but weak. The waitress did what he asked and turned up the television volume.
"Another sunny but cold day in New York," the anchor-man spoke with a thick Brooklyn accent. "In other news-" suddenly the anchor-man stopped talking, and placed an index finger to his left ear as if he was receiving something. "This just in. A bank robbery is currently in progress. A handful of armed men stormed the bank, and now are holding hostages. It is unclear at the moment how many are in," Kyraila couldn't believe what the anchor-man was saying, she twisted herself around and stared at the television, as the front of the bank appeared. Multiple police cars were at the scene, a SWAT team standing by. The camera suddenly zoomed into a nearby window, the window held a small girl with dark raven hair, but it was made into ponytails, she was no older than eight. Her expression held fear, a fear that paralyses a person. But out of nowhere she was pulled to the side, vanishing from the window only to be replaced with a man in a ski-mask.
