Ravenna

(Author's Note : This story will be told in chunks because writing it all down chronologically will get extremely difficult. For this first chunk, it is neither the beginning nor the end of her story. It takes place during her life. Any questions and comments are welcome. I will answer them as soon as I figure out how.)(The song is "Faster" by Within Temptation, off their "the Unforgiving" album.)

Nobody saw the woman as she crouched over the dead thing, death wielding blade still in hand, sticky with the thing's inner ooze. They were all too focused on her. Well, the younger, anti-psychotic, anti-depressed, anti-anxious,visible, walking zombie younger version of her as she("anti-crazy")in turn, focused on the woman whom nobody else could see, and of course, the demented biblical thing she'd just ended, with an almost drunken determination.
The girl's epic struggle to focus was evident in her almost dazed and slightly glazed over eyes. She almost appeared feverish, drunk, but the woman knew she was over medicated, remembering the perpetual, hellish fog.
The woman pulled the ceremonial sidewalk chalk out of the pocket of her hell hound- hide cloak, over acting the drawing of the circle and the symbols necessary to send the thing back to Hell and destroy it permanently, knowing the girl needed to subconsciously remember this later. Into the thing she carved the corresponding symbols as it was the package to be delivered through the "door" she'd just drawn, and added her symbol. Her signature, if you will. Her triskelion raven overtop an average pentagram/ devil's trap. 

The woman stood up, and locked eyes with the girl, letting hers roll back into her head to show what would have been creepy white marble looking things if her soul didn't shine through and give them their unique glowing golden hue.
All eyes were on the girl as she slowly listed to the side until she lost her balance, falling out of the desk. Her head struck a corner of another . None of the gasps torn from girls' lips all around the room belonged to the girl. No, they all felt the pain for her, jumping from their seats as she lay frumpled on the floor, her eyes wide open, unseeing. A single red tear calmly made it's way out of the corner of her eye and plopped to the floor. But nobody heard that over the alarmed shouts.
As two girls ran to get the nurse, and another couple to find the professor who had just left to run off copies, the woman slowly nudged her way across the room, the young girls parted around her like the Red Sea, then gathered behind her as she passed, invisible and unnoticed in her cloak. Another tear joined the first.
"It only gets better from here, child," the woman told the girl, who would have been the only one to hear the woman if she hadn't been locked in an internal battle to the death with herself. Her blind audience she forgot as she got down to business.
Ravenna slowly recited the incantation as she painted the necessary symbols onto the girl's cheek bones and forehead, mixing the old and the new. Some from her Cherokee ancestors, others from the Romani, and still others from the angelic and demonic symbolic languages, combining in essence to form exactly what the girl needed.Two more tears fell. Any other human, and this would kill them ten times over, but this girl, only once. And once was all the girl needed.
Ravenna pulled the syringe from her cloak as another tear fell. A stray strand of hair had come undone a while ago in her fight with the thing, and now it was in her face again. Ravenna put the syringe in her teeth, secured the rebellious lock, and continued her chant, syringe poised above the girl's heart, all but deaf to the continued agitation of the girls around her, for she was nothing if not focused.
______
When the professor left the classroom full of seniors, the last thing he expected was for two girls to come running after him not three minutes later, obviously panicked about something. He followed them back to his classroom at a panicked jog, it wasn't like these girls to get this agitated over something. As he rounded the final corner of the hallway, he saw a blur of Marina Addaams as she practically flew to his class room, skidding to a stop somewhere inside the room. And promptly screamed something. Something was really wrong. Normally, she came in calmly if Chrys was having issues.
The professor reached out and grabbed the edge of the door frame, using the momentum to swing into his English class room and keep from sliding further down the hall than he needed to, the two girls on his heels.
The professor arrived just in time to see a caped woman stab a limp Christina Addaams in the heart with something shiny, then seemingly thrown back by an unnaturally bright light into Marina, amidst screams from a room full of teenage girls. The lights flickered for the second time that day, then promptly died.
"Was zur Dickens geht hier?!"("What the dickens is going on in here?!") The professor thundered, shocked into his native German as the girl's body began to cough and choke.
"Charles hatte damit nichts zu tun," (Charles has nothing to do with it)the woman clad in black replied, sitting up slowly, fingertips to her temples.
"What in the world?!" someone yelled, the professor wasn't sure who. He focused on the other side of the room again, just in time to see the asphyxiating girl start to slip into the seemingly solid hard wood floor.
"Ta-tsu-wa?" Marina groggily asked of the grey cloaked woman next to her, something the professor had only heard her call Chrys before.
"I-gi-do." The woman answered.
Marina opened her eyes as the woman helped her up, seemingly speechless.
As was everybody else as they watched this take place.
"What's going on here?," the Professor repeated, needing to know if this qualified as a 911 situation.
The woman looked at him with her familiar honey brown eyes, and he took in her get-up as she rearranged her cloak behind her to start speaking. Snug fitting black material of some sort made up her fitted top and pants, and a large (black) weapons belt full of pouches and a few shiny blades, one with some sort of black goo on it. Her boots rose to just below the knee, whether that was the intent or not, he couldn't tell as the woman was maybe 5' 2" with the thick soled boots on, silver buckles climbed from her ankles upward. Across her brow, along her cheek bones, and down her forearms ran silver runes of different styles- loopy, angular, long, short, and one silver and red bird looking thing halfway between her right wrist and elbow.