Shadow Weaver

Run

As Azmeria navigated the crowded streets of Mardi Gras, the words echoed in her mind: "Run, don't let them catch you, don't ever let them catch you." With one hand cradling her swollen belly, protecting the unborn son within, and the other gripping her trusty silenced 9mm, she wove through the sea of revelers on Canal Street.

Though petite and pixie-like, Azmeria was a force to be reckoned with – a deadly assassin trained in the dark arts since childhood, over 500 years ago. Her sisters, Destria, Esmeria, Thantia, and Hestra, were the only ones who matched her skill, and they were now hot on her heels.

The five siblings, born of the Witch Goddess Morrighan and the ancient shapeshifter Ahigha Takoda, were a formidable team, feared by all who knew their name. They were cold, calculating, and ruthless, with a bond that only grew stronger with each passing century.

As Azmeria dodged drunken tourists, she couldn't help but wonder: "How did I end up here? How could I have let this happen?" A sly smile spread across her face. "How I wish I could be so careless."

But the sound of thunder shattered her reverie, and she knew she'd been found.

"We can't kill our sister!" Esmeria shrieked, her voice carrying on the wind as she soared through the sky.

"We can, we must, and we will," Destria replied, her heart heavy with the weight of their mother's command.

The sisters' banter continued, their words laced with a mix of loyalty, duty, and desperation. Thantia communicated telepathically, while Hestra's rage crackled with electricity.

Esmeria, identical twin to Azmeria, stood out with her wild tangle of jet-black hair and caramel skin. Her eyes flashed red as she pleaded with Destria: "Please, let her live."

But Destria's response was resolute: a solemn shake of her head.

With that, Esmeria launched herself from the sky, plummeting towards the ground with a silent grace. She landed in an alleyway off Canal Street, her feet barely making a sound on the damp pavement.

The sudden stillness was a stark contrast to the chaotic Mardi Gras revelry just a block away. Esmeria's eyes gleamed with a fierce intensity as she scanned the narrow passageway, her senses heightened to compensate for the darkness. With a quiet confidence, she began to move through the shadows, her footsteps light as a ghost, her eyes scanning every doorway and window for any sign of Azmeria.

Her silence was a testament to her centuries-honed skills, a predator stalking her prey through the concrete jungle. The only sound was the soft rustle of her hair and the distant thrum of jazz music, a haunting melody that seemed to match the beat of her heart.

Destria hovered above, her eyes fixed on the alleyway, her resolve unwavering, as her sisters searched the city for Azmeria, no doubt to protect her, but Destria would do what she had to, no matter the cost, no matter the pain.

As Azmeria fled through the crowded streets of the French Quarter, her eyes scanned the rooftops and balconies for any sign of her sisters. But it was the towering spires of St. Louis Cathedral that drew her attention, its ancient stones a beacon of hope in her desperate flight. She had always known that the cathedral was a place of power, a nexus of sacred energy that could shield her from her family's wrath.

From the outside, the cathedral loomed above her, its Gothic facade a labyrinth of stone and shadow. The triple steeples reached towards the sky like giant's fists, and the stained glass windows glowed with a kaleidoscope of colors, casting a rainbow-hued glow across the pavement. Azmeria felt a surge of relief as she pushed open the massive wooden doors and slipped inside.

She knew that her mother, the Witch Goddess Morrighan, would not risk open war with the Catholic pantheon by pursuing her into the heart of their sacred place. The old gods and the new had a delicate truce, one that Azmeria hoped to exploit. As she ran down the aisle, her footsteps echoed off the stone walls, and she felt the weight of the cathedral's history bearing down upon her.